


Untouchable

by EndoftheLine72



Series: Untouchable Series [1]
Category: Original Work, Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M, Original Fiction, Outlander - Freeform, RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 86,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10919163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoftheLine72/pseuds/EndoftheLine72
Summary: No real plot, no real lives. Just an imaginary look into a life that will never be, but is the type that everyone wants - eventually. Slow burner.RPF Fiction - No events, facts, names, familiy history or timelines are real apart from the stated real person's name.Adult audiences only - There could be anything in this stuff so be warned now.





	1. Bruised But Not Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know these people. I will never know these people and I don't want to know these people. I see them as characters. Kinda like reading a brief description of someone and filling in the blanks yourself. I saw a picture of Caitriona Balfe and filled in the blanks. A character in a story and nothing more that that. I could have just made my own character, but I'm lazy so I picked someone real that you all can google, saves me getting you to imagine what they look like or sound like.  
> I chose not to use the usual ship in this fiction because in this fandom, the Outlander fandom, shipping acts like a bat signal. It draws out bullies, trolls, has beens and attention seekers from their dark corners who are never content to let people fan/ship / do whatever they want without attacking them. That behaviour is wrong and it has destroyed the fandom and left a void which I thought was a real shame, because at the heart of it all, was a central belief of two people falling in love with each other. That can never be a bad thing, even if the outcome wasn't what we expected.  
> So I decided to fill the void left with a pairing that could never be destroyed. I control this little ship, I can steer it wherever I want. I don't expect you to be a passenger if you object to the destination.  
> Mouse clicks are cheap, move on.  
> This is pure fiction, not real. I have manipulated timelines, facts, names, ages, places, countries, in fact, pretty much everything other than what Caitriona Balfe looks like and that she is an actor in Outlander.  
> This whole ship is fictional. Got that? NOT REAL.  
> I in no way, shape or form want/expect/project any of this onto any living person. It's just writing on a page that occupies my brain sometimes. Someone suggested I post it here, and so I have. I don't write to share, I just write because I write. If you like it, that's great, if not, then don't read it. Simple really. No disrespect is intended.
> 
> Just a reminder : This is not the normal ship, so please, don't read it with any expectation of the normal relationship pairing. 
> 
> I will also be posting this as snapshots, so the story eventually will be linear, it will be posted as snippets from taken through time, not necessarily in order. It just depends which part of their life I have written about. 
> 
> And so it begins..........................Welcome to Untouchable

She couldn’t decide whether it hurt more to breathe or to think.

Caitriona tried to take a deep breath and instantly answered her own question as a searing pain shot through her abdomen. She blinked and tried to focus. White. All white. Cold and, her brow wrinkled, a strange smell. Slowly her eyes began to focus, though the throbbing in her head didn’t make it any easier. She was still in the car. Some good news at least. The windscreen was entirely covered with snow. The airbag had deployed and the engine was off. Perhaps deciding in anger to drive from Seattle to New York, instead of flying with everyone else wasn’t her best idea. Her left leg was throbbing. Caitriona tried moving it but stopped instantly as a stab of pain raced from foot to knee, white hot in its intensity.

She let out a stifled scream, trying desperately to breathe, waiting for the pain to subside. Clearly moving was not an option. Gingerly she reached for the door, sucking in pained breaths as her sore body protested. The door was jammed shut. Terrific. She undid the seat belt and carefully leaned over. Her handbag was laying in the passenger  foot well, momentum having flung it there when she’d misjudged the corner and side slipped into a drift. Christ, it was cold.Fingers could just reach the edge of the long strap that had tangled itself around the handbrake. Tugging at it, she finally maneuvered the bag within reach. She scrummaged through the oversize bag, hunting for her phone. “Shit.” She held it up. Of course, no friggin service. She tried the key. The engine so dead it didn’t even pretend to roll over. “Well if this fucking day can get any worse, I’ll be surprised.” She closed her eyes, leaning against the headrest. What a hideous mess. She’d smiled through that damned convention despite the utter feelings of betrayal that were assaulting her from every possible side.

Him.

Her.

Both of them.

All of them.

No one was escaping without being hurt this time. Not Tony. Not Sam and most definitely, not her. It had started with her walking in on Tony with not one, but two press whores, one male and one female, in the shower of her hotel room and had ended with Sam telling her he loved her and kissing her in his hotel room. It was bad enough, she had to suffer through a very public event afterwards, seeing fans, smiling, being around both of them.  She’d barely managed. Camera’s she knew. Being on display she knew. So, she shut down, hit the automatic pilot button she’d developed in her modelling days and just gotten the job done. Getting on a plane with both of them, in a somewhat private setting was absolutely out of the question for her. She needed space. Time to think. Time to figure out what the fuck to do now. How the hell to get out of the mess she’d landed in.

Her head, like the rest of her body, was aching wickedly. Part hangover and part accident she figured, shivering as the cold began to seep into the air around her. She tried to move her leg again. Eyes clamped shut, immediately regretting the decision as agony ripped through her. She decided to focus on her breathing, willing the pain to stop. Moving was clearly not an option. Suddenly the car seemed to lurch, a sinister cracking heard through the snow caked windscreen. Caitriona was forced to grip the wheel and brace herself as her body fell forward. The nose of the car sloping down.

A cold burning made itself known around her feet, slowly working its way up her calf. Her heartbeat jumped at the sight. Water. Ice cold, frigid, deadly water. Now the panic began to set in. The water rising quickly, already half way up her shin. She shouldered the door again. It refused to move, even a little. She reached down, frantically searching, probing, trying to move the seat. If she could just slide it back, maybe she could get her leg out somehow. Bracing her good leg and taking a deep breath, she pushed, straining, willing the seat to move. She slumped forward after a few moments, panting in exertion.

The water began to lap the bend in her knee, her teeth already chattering. Her hands white, the blood being shunted inwards, her body’s natural response to the impending hypothermia. She tucked her damp hands underneath her armpits, trying to warm them, yelping when cold skin met warm, frantically trying to think what to do next. Another cracking sound heralded a change in angle, as the car slid further into the water. She was trapped. She tried the seat again with pressing urgency as the water crept higher, her thigh becoming wet with the icy water seeping into the car’s interior. Her heart was fairly pounding in her chest, panic rising just a steadily as the water. In desperation she shoved at the door, yelling, pushing, straining as the water continued to rise. Without warning tears began to course down her cheeks as the reality of the deadly situation began to set in.

Was this how she was going to die? Out here in the middle of nowhere? Alone? Drowned in icy water? By the time the water was lapping at her stomach, the cold and sheer panic had consumed her. Insidious frigidity was seeping into her mind, numbing it, enticing her to shut down, to calm, to relax. So much so, that the sound of the back window shattering and a cold blast of artic wind rushing through the cabin, barely even registered.

A deep male voice sounded beside her ear, “Can you hear me?” It said. Almost in slow motion she turned her head. Deep blue eyes, framed by a handsome face looked intently at her, “Can you tell me your name?”

“Caitriona.”

He smiled, neat white teeth and a gentle expression greeted her, “Alright, Caitriona. I’m Johnathon.” He glanced down at the water now half way up her chest then back to her face, “We need to get you out of here.”

“My leg..” She stuttered, her teeth chattering so badly it was difficult to form words.

“I know.” He said calmly, eyes locking with hers, “I’m going to move the back of the seat and then we are going to slide you out of here. Okay?” He began to shift, her hand gripped his arm, pulling him back. She tried to speak but the words were caught in her throat, hypothermia ceasing muscles and thoughts. His larger warm hand covered hers, “It’s alright. I won’t leave you. I’ll be right here. I just need to move this seat Caitriona.” He nodded at her and slid around. He knew he had minutes only to get this woman out of this car before it slipped the rest of the way into the lake, taking them both with it. He gripped the seat low down, his arms strongly objecting to being submerged in freezing water. Fingers searched until he found the weak joint in the seat mechanism. He’d seen it a hundred times in the road accidents he’d attended. Most seats failed at a particular point in many of the head-on collisions he’d been called to when he’d worked in rescue. He knew the weakness usually lay in the teeth mechanism that connected the seats together. If he could manage to move either one of them, changing the seat angle, that should be enough to try and slide the woman out. Bracing his feet against the base and gripping as low down as he could, almost putting his head under the water, he levered his body against the seat, muscles strained, his back arched as he pulled, shaking the chair back and forth, not stopping at her cries of shock and surprise. He couldn’t, there wasn’t time. It was now or never. He took a deep breath, the water covering his head as he knelt on the floor of the car and levered with all the force he could muster, straining the very fibre of every muscle group he had until, almost through sheer force of will the chair mechanism split. It didn’t sheer off completely but it moved. He hoped it was enough as he broke the surface, sucking in deep breath and shoving the back of the chair down. He reached over the back of the seat and grabbed her under the shoulders and tugged her backward. She screamed, but thankfully, her body came free and in a matter of seconds he had an arm around her waist and was dragging her across the back seat, bodily hauling her out the back window.

The wind hit her like a twenty-tonne truck, taking what little breath she had, icy fingers seeming to the seek out the very last vestige of anything that remotely resembled warm anywhere in her entire body. They both landed with a sodden thud on the iced surface of the lake. She’d have screamed if she’d had the breath for it, as it was she barely had time to think before she found herself being dragged across the ice. “Off the ice to the car.” He shouted over the wind and driving snow as they finally reached the shoreline.

Caitriona was really shaking now, uncontrollable and savage, her limbs ached, her head felt distant and light. She suddenly felt tired, so very tired. Arms slipped under her legs, a wave of confused dizziness washing over her as he hoisted her up, cradling her against him as he slogged through the knee-deep snow, face into the biting wind. Get her to the car. Get her warm. His mind was already working on what he needed to do next. He felt her relaxing, felt the grip of hyperthermia lulling her to sleep, to shut down, “Hey!” He yelled, jostling her, her head snapping back and heavy eyes opening, “Keep your eyes open Caitriona.”

“So tired..”

“Stay awake.” He urged as he struggled up the last drift, back to the road and thankfully a warm truck. Johnathon set her down, wedging her between his body and the car, taking her weight as he quickly opened the door. “Almost there now.” He spread a blanket across the seat then lifted her in as best he could. She screamed as her ankle twisted, pain chasing the sleep temporarily from her system. He wrapped her tightly in the blanket and shut the door. The truck was warm, having been left running, the heated seats and the warm interior air chased the chill from the air and she slumped back into the softness of it. Her head rolled back and she was vaguely aware that they were moving. She tried to focus, but her eyes refused to foloow any instruction her brain was giving, blurring and urging her to close them. Warm air was blowing in her face in stark contradiction to the cold she felt deep in her body. Dark brows knit in confusion, but try as she might, her mind refused clear. She just wanted to sleep.

“Hey,” A hand on her shoulder roused her, “Tell me your name again.” He needed to keep her talking, once she was in the cabin and warm, he’d let her sleep, but until then, “Come on.” He shook her harder, hard enough to cause her lidded eyes to open and shoot him an outrageous glare, “What’s your name?”

The eyes blinked slowly then cleared, “Caitriona.” Her voice wavered slightly, her teeth still chattering, her body still shaking with deadly hypothermic cold, “Caitriona Balfe.”

Johnathon’s focus turned back to the road, dodging drifts, straining to see in the growing dark and driving storm. The weather was worsening by the minute, with snow and wind this hard, there was no way the road would still be open. Returning to the cabin was the only real option. In any case, town was a four hour trip on a good weather day and there was no way that this woman, whoever she was, would make it that far, even with the gentle warmth of the car’s interior and shelter of a wrapped blanket. “Alright Caitriona, tell me about your family.” He flicked a glance at her, at least her eyes were still open.

Dark brows knit in confusion, “What?” Her fingers and toes were beginning to burn as they slowly warmed.

“Your family.” His voice was deep, soft and steady, “Tell me about them.” Keeping her talking would keep her conscious. Apart from the cold, her foot was clearly hurt badly. He wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t broken, but the woman had been in a car wreck and he was concerned there could be other injuries not visibly obvious. He prompted and prodded, getting her to relate the names of her mother, father and siblings, what she did for a living, where she’d been driving to. Her answers had been clear and articulate, if not punctuated by spasms of uncontrollable shivering and more than a good amount of exasperation aimed solely had him, particularly when he’d asked about a husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, partner and children. Then the answers had been coloured with varying degrees of anger, frustration, sadness and a distinct hint of none of your business.

She was an actress who had been travelling from Seattle to New York for work, her parents and family were in Ireland, she had no children and her boyfriend was in New York, though something about the way she reacted to that didn’t quite sit right. He suspected there was more to that story but wasn’t really in the mood nor the situation to care extensively about it.

“Where are we going?” She asked, breaking through his introspection as she exhaled deeply trying to stifle the shaking.

“Cabin. Not far now.” He pointed through the windscreen at a dark blurry shape not too far down the track or road or whatever it was that he was following. She squinted her eyes, she wasn’t even sure there was a road, though she could see the structure he was pointing to, “A place to get out this storm.”

She nodded, suddenly aware of the situation. Having deliberately taken the backroads to give herself more time to think, she now realised the price of that decision. She was in the middle of nowhere, and worse no one knew she was here. When she failed to arrive, yes, someone would raise the alarm, but she wasn’t due in New York until late tomorrow night and it was a long time between now and then. A long time for, she glanced at the man beside her, a long time for anything to happen to her.

He looked like a decent type of a guy, but isn’t that what they say about all serial killer types, they look like your normal everyday nice guy, except they kill people for kicks. Scenes from the movie Misery flashed through her mind and she fumbled in the damp shirt pocket. Shit, her mind cursed as her fingers closed around her phone, instantly feeling the icy wetness covering it. Hands trembling she pressed the button. Nothing. No light. No power. Nothing.

“No signal up here anyway.” Her head snapped to one side to find the most ocean blue eyes she’d ever seen watching her quietly, “but if you want to try, you can use mine if you know the numbers you need."

She accepted the phone, glanced at the screen then handed it back. No service. “There no landline? At this cabin? Either?”

“No phone, but this storm will blow itself out in a day or so and then its only 4 hours or so to town.” The car stopped moving, the headlights illuminating a bigger cabin than she’d been expecting, “Wait here in the warm. I’ll unlock and then come and get you.” He opened the door and several snowflakes blew in with the icy wind.

She watched as he leapt up the half a dozen or so in no more than two strides, disappearing from her view behind a solid wooden door. She glanced down at the keys, hanging in the ignition, the engine purring softly in the background. If she wanted to, escape would be easy right now. Apart from the fact that she didn’t really know exactly where she was, where the road was, where the town was and couldn’t reliably see more than two feet in front of her. Serial killer or not, she wasn’t going anywhere without his help. Another wracking series of shakes rattled through her bones, the phone slipped from her fingers, landing with a thud on the floor at her feet. She bent to retrieve it and immediately regretted it. She let out a strangled yelp and sat back. Definitely not going anywhere without his help.

The help returned presently, toting a second blanket. The door opened and a snow dusted blond head leaned over her, wrapping a second blanket around her shoulders, “Hold on to me.” She look a breath, steeling herself against the pain as strong arms slid under her knees and she was lifted from the car. She wrapped an arm around his neck, feeling the instant solidness of him, holding herself steady as he crossed the threshold, kicking the door shut and setting her gently down on the edge of the large bed. He knelt down at her feet, nodding towards her boots, “I’m going to try and get these off,” Blue eyes looked up at her, “It might hurt, but we need to get you warm and see what we’re dealing with here.” She nodded mutely and curled her fingers into the softness of the covers. He unzipped the side of her leather boot on the good ankle and slipped it off without a single sound.

The second boot was not as simple. “Almost there.” He murmured in sympathy, having heard the stifled gasps, yelps and at least one bitten off scream. She’d decided half way through the procedure to try and focus on something, anything other than the sharp stabs of pain running up her leg. He had strong shoulders, she observed, muscles clearly defined beneath the shirt, flexing and relaxing as he moved. His hands were large and warm, gentle in their strength as one gripped her calf. Gentle yet steady and sure. There was no hesitation or nervous shake in the grip, in his actions. He pulled the boot free. This time she did scream, white hot agony raced up her leg and fingers involuntarily gripped the covers, knuckles white with tension. The ankle had swollen to well over twice its size, her foot puffed and slightly red. The ankle joint itself had already started to turn shades of purple. It could well be broken, but with no real way to tell, at least not yet, all he could do was wrap it, keep it still until he could get her to town.

“Is it broken?” Her voice wavered and he looked up to see tears escaping the corners of her eyes.

“I’m not sure Caitriona.” He shot her an apologetic look, knowing how much these type of injuries could hurt, “What I am sure off,” He stood, “is that you need to get warm. Start by getting out of those wet clothes.” He untucked one edge of the blanket, “Can you do that by yourself?”

“Yes.” She nodded, not at all sure she could, but unwilling to strip off in front of a potential serial killer if she could help it. But he was right, while the uncontrollable shaking had eased, the occasional bone rattling shake still shivered through her body without warning.

“I’m going to go and get you something dry to put on.” He reached up and pulled a curtain from its ties near the head of the bed, “Try not to put any pressure on that ankle.” He flicked the curtain around the bed, leaving her sitting there, listening to his footstep recede.

With a great deal of awkward maneuvering, trying not to bend or topple over, her fingers white and stiff, she finally managed to wiggle out the jeans and underwear, covering herself with a blanket. She was starting on the sodden shirt buttons when she heard his footsteps followed by a grunt and a noise which she imagined was him depositing heavy bags onto the floor. Her assumption was further reinforced when she heard the unzipping of one of the cases. She had her shirt undone when his voice startled her. A long arm poked its way through the curtain, “Try these.” The hand tossed the clothing onto the head of the bed, then disappeared.

She smiled to herself, doubting that a serial killer would bother trying to avoid copping a glance at a semi naked woman. She looked down at bra clad chest and shrugged, especially since half the world had seen her naked on television. She reached over and inspected the pile of clothing. A large navy blue sweatshirt, that she was sure she could fit four of herself inside, and a pair of long grey sweatpants. Not a fashion statement to be sure, but they were dry and, she thumbed the soft fleecy material, should be warm enough. She flicked the long legs of the pants out and gingerly slipped them over her own legs, lifting her backside to pull them up, tying the drawstring in a bow before slipping the sweat shirt over her head, settling the soft folds around her. She sighed softly, it was utter bliss to be dry. She took a small breath, the clothes smelled clean and fresh and held with them the slight scent of men’s aftershave. She decided she liked it and took a deeper breath. A move she rapidly rethought as a sharp pain reasserted itself, stabbing her left side. She let out a yelp and closed her eyes.

“Everything okay?” a deep voice sounded from beyond the curtain. Blond brows knit a moment, then he shrugged, a decision made, he poked his head through the curtain. She was sitting very still, her hands clenched in the blanket. He moved to her side, concerned there had been greater injury than he first thought. Tossing three elastic bandages on the bed, he touched her shoulder, “Where is the pain Caitriona?” There was a gentleness to his voice, tinged with more than a hint of urgency.

She finally swallowed and opened her eyes, looking up into similar ocean blue ones. “My side.” Her voice wavered.

He crouched down, “Can you lift this shirt a little?” he asked quietly looking up with one brow raised in question. Sniffling back traitorous tears that threatened to fall, she nodded slowly, then gripping the bottom of the shirt lifted the edge, high enough for uncover her ribs, stopping just short of the underside of her breasts. His fingers were warm and gentle as they carefully probed her stomach and ribs. “Sorry,” He said, when he touched a particularly tender spot, “I don’t think there’s any real damage or breaks, but you’re going to be bruised and sore for a few days.” He reached for one of the bandages, “This will help, but it’s going to hurt for a bit.” He unfurled an arm’s length of bandage and knelt in front of her, “Put your hands on my shoulders,” He looked up and shot her an apologetic smile, “Squeeze as hard as you need to and try and keep breathing.”

His shoulders were broad, strong muscles sloping down from his neck. She gripped them hard as the bandage was applied, tighter than she was expecting. “Breathe Caitriona.” His movements were precise, quick and sure and Caitriona realised that he’d done this before. “All done.” He said softly, sliding the hem of the sweat shirt down but remaining kneeling and still, “Just breathe.” She focussed on the simple instruction a few moments until her grip relaxed with the gradually easing pain, “Better?” His voice was gentle, deep in its timbre and seemed to match those deep blue eyes perfectly.

“A little.” She was suddenly very aware of the warmth of the muscled flesh of his shoulders beneath her palms and immediately dropped her hands into her lap.

“Well,” He said standing up, “Sorry to be the bearer of more bad news, but we need to get you in bed.” He stopped a moment and flashed her a smile, “ Not what it sounds like but you know what I meant?”

She couldn’t help but smile, “I know what you meant.” She conceded and held out her hand, “Can you help me up first, I need to…” She hesitated then flicked a glance towards the bathroom.

“Oh right.” A slight flush of red coloured his neck, “Put your arms around my neck.” He bent over and waited until she was ready, then carefully lifted her behind the knees, carrying her to the bathroom and setting her down on the floor, letting her lean against the towel rail, “Let me know when you’re ready okay?” He slipped outside, closing the door behind him. He moved the fireplace and started to stack the kindling and logs, striking a single match, gently coaxing the flames into life. Next he moved to bed and flicked the covers down. He was about to set the pot on the stove, when he heard the bathroom door open.

It took a lot less time that he’d thought to get her settled. She’d endured the painful wrapping of her ankle bravely, and was now reclining, wrapped in several blankets, a warm mug of chicken soup in her hand, foot carefully elevated on a pillow, back propped against the headboard, listening to soft sound of the water running in the shower.

In the confusion of it all, Caitriona had completely forgotten that he’d been submerged in that cold water as well. He emerged a few minutes later, dressed in similar clothing to what she now was. They fitted his muscular form far better than hers. She studied him quietly over the rim of the mug. Tall. He was tall, taller than she was. Square shoulders, her eyes drifted down, strong back, narrow hips, long legs, all in all the perfect picture of a very attractive man. Not to mention, those eyes.

The object of her musings glanced her way. They were blue, deep blue like crystal water of a tropical ocean, darker than her own. “Pain easing off a bit?” He asked as he bent to feed another log into the gently crackling fire.

“Yes, some,” She responded as he straightened and walked towards the large bed she was comfortably ensconced in. Johnathon picked up a large grey blanket from long couch and with an efficient motion, flicked it open, letting it settle down over her body, carefully holding one corner and laying it ever so gently over her ankle, “Enough to be bearable at least.”

He seemed to consider this a moment, then moved to the stack of bags. He opened a smaller one, studied a small box a moment then walked to the kitchen area. The entire cabin was one large room consisting of a largish kitchen and dining area, a comfortable lounge and two easy chairs in front of a large open stone backed fireplace and a large raised platform that contain the massive bed she was resting in. He swung around, a long glass of water in his hand and return to the bedside. “Try this.” He offered her two oblong shaped capsules, “They aren’t very strong but will help some.” In truth, he wanted to give her something far stronger, but the only medication that would have the strength he needed would also have the unwanted side effect of making the taker excessively drowsy, something he was trying to avoid. The shivering had stopped and Johnathon was reasonably happy that she was warming slowly, gradually coming back to a normal thermic range. Still, he’d keep her awake for another few hours, then assess the situation again. “Thank you,” She said, swapping the cup of hot soup for the glass and pills, “I’ll take anything that might help at this point.” She swallowed the medication and took a long drink of water, handing back the empty glass and accepting the mug, “Thank you for the soup as well.” She took another mouthful, “It’s really good. Where did you get it from? All the way out here? I mean, the nearest town is …?”

“In good weather? 4 hours away,” He finished for her.

“Right, so you keep a stock here just for rescuing stranded drivers?”

Johnathon chuckled softly, a small smile crinkling the sides of his handsome mouth, “No. I made a pot full when I first got here.” He nodded towards the cup, “That is the last of it though.”

“What about you?” She glanced at the cup, suddenly feeling guilty at taking food from his mouth.

He shrugged, “She’ll be right. I’ll knock something up from the staples I always leave here.”

Caitriona’s brow knit and she cocked her head to one side, “Where are you from Johnathon?” He had an accent, similar strength to her own, but very different in both tone and lilt. It was easy to listen to and seemed to suit him perfectly. It was also different to anyone she’d ever met or heard, but she decided she liked it.

He smiled that smile again and Caitriona found herself smiling back, “Well,” He stood and walked toward a large wooden cupboard, “Definitely not from Ireland.” His deep voice held a cheeky note as he spoke over his shoulder, blue eyes meeting hers in silent accusation. He opened one door and standing on tiptoes, reached up and hoisted down yet another blanket.

“No. Not from Ireland, I know what that accent sounds like.” She met his gaze, raising her own cheeky eyebrow over the rim of the cup, “So?”

“Australia.” He said, leaning over her and putting the blanket over her shoulders.

“You’re a long way from home then?”

“A bit.” He straightened and moved to the window, leaning on strong arms and surveying the blizzard outside. “I could say the same about you Caitriona. There is a few thousand miles between Ireland and the US.” Johnathon turned, crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the sill.

She lifted her eyes to his, “Can I assume that ‘a bit’ means you don’t live here?” She glanced around the cabin. It was clear he didn’t and that had her wondering why he was here. It was also clear that he’d deflected her question.

“No.” His blond head shook, “Just a bit of a getaway that I visit now and again. I was on my way back to civilisation when I happened upon your car tracks.”

“Lucky for me,” She answered, swirling the last of the soup around the cup, “If you hadn’t come along, I’d be at the bottom of that lake with the car.”

He pushed off the sill and held out a hand, gesturing for the now empty cup, “As soon as the storm lets up, we’ll have to let your family know that you’re not in that car before they raise an alert and send someone out looking for you.”

She handed the cup over, “My phone was soaked, but it didn’t have a signal anyway. Does yours have service?”

"Nope, not in here anyway.” Johnathon wandered to the kitchen and started filling a stainless-steel kettle, “It does if I stand on the top of the hill out there,” He pointed at the window, currently completely white, snow flurries and wind occasionally rattling the panes.

“You can’t go out there.” She stated practically.

He smiled and took down two cups from their hooks, setting them on the counter, “Not at the moment, no.” Caitriona watched as he bent and fossicked around in the cupboard under the bench, “But I will when it’s not so hectic.” A large container and a spoon was dropped on the counter, “So if you can remember the numbers of your boyfriend and family, you can write a few texts and they will send the second I do manage to get service out there.” He spooned two large heaps of light brown powder into each cup, then added boiling water. He stirred each cup vigorously, then walked to the bedside and lowered one cup, one brow raised in silent question. The rich scent of chocolate wafted up into her senses as she gratefully accepted the cup, sniffing appreciatively at its contents. Johnathon dug into his back pocket and handed her his phone, “Texts will send quicker with less signal than trying to make a call, but if you’d rather, I can try and call it in to the local police and have them contact whoever you want.”

“I know the numbers I think,” She took a sip of the hot liquid, deliciously sweet and thick, “Texts will be fine.” More than fine, she had no real desire to actually verbally speak to Tony again yet, nor Sam, nor production. She’d send a text to them and to her family so if Johnathon, she turned her head and looked at him. He was sitting quietly in a chair, cup in one hand, a laptop propped on his knee. If he turned out to be the crazy serial killer type, they would at least know where she was and she guessed, he was right. The last thing she wanted was to worry her family and cause someone to have to be out in all this searching for her. She started with a text to each of her sisters, stopping periodically to drink the hot chocolate. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?” She queried, “I should tell them when to expect me.” She indicated the phone.

He paused, looking at the storm, clearly considering before answering, “I’ll have another look in the morning, but storms like this tend to blow themselves out in a day or two.”

“So,” She calculated, “Thursday sometime?”

“Start with that and if it changes,” He put the laptop on the table and stood, stretching slightly, “We’ll try and get the message through. Okay?” She nodded her agreeance, watching as he crossed to the kitchen and started digging around for more supplies she assumed. She flicked the screen of his phone, noting its plain background. No pictures of family or, she glanced over to see him put two pots on the stove, no significant other. Caitriona idly pondered that for a few moments, narrowing her gaze to his hand. No ring, and no marks where one should have been. Not that that was any indication, her mind warned. Many men didn’t wear rings and marriage wasn’t the only indicator of relationship status. She looked at her own hand, conspicuously devoid of any such adornment. That had never meant that she hadn’t been attached to someone. She shook her head, clearing the uncomfortable memories and set back to her task. Next came her mother and father, clear messages, short and sweet, similarly with production and her agents, all business and professional and then a simple, “Don’t worry. I’m fine,” to Sam and Tony alike. She pressed send for each of the messages, automatically queuing them. A long list of messages displayed on screen. A history of his texts. She couldn’t help herself, she ran a finger over the few messages he had stored there.

Most were to someone called Jackson Porter, various others to several police inspectors, detectives and, her eyebrow rose a little, special agents, FBI, CIA and MI6. Who was this man, James Bond? Should she be concerned? She flicked a nervous glance at her rescuer. It occurred to her that he hadn’t volunteered any information about himself, but had gotten her to spill details about her family, her job, her travel plans. The key question now became was this by design or by coincidence? Only one way to find out. “Johnathon?” Clear blue eyes looked up from packet he was currently studying, “What about your family? Won’t they be expecting you home? You said you were on your way when you found me.”

He leaned on the counter, “No one is expecting me anywhere, not now.” He shrugged, mentally wiping the reasons for that away, “I was on my way to New York to consult on a case there, so I’ll let them know I’ll be a few days late.”

“Consult on a case?”

‘That’s right.” He opened the packet and tipped it into one of the pots, “I consult with a few different law agencies occasionally to help them solve cases.”

That seemed to fit what she’d snooped up. “So you’re a detective, special agent or something?” She asked, finishing the cup of hot chocolate

He opened the freezer and pulled out several frozen items, “Something like that.” He smiled and began dumping the items into the pots, already gently starting to the steam.

“My father is, or was a police inspector in Ireland, he’s semi-retired now.” Caitriona offered, “actually,” She thought on that, “They only call him in now when they need him. But then again that could be their way of easing him out the door, he’s 65 now, should have probably retired years ago if you ask Mum. ”

Johnathon stirred one of the pots and added more water, putting the lid on and turning back to her, “Did your father specialise in any one area?”

“No. He was the inspector of a small village station.” She reached over and put the cup on the bedside table before leaning back against the headboard and readjusting the blanket around her shoulders, “What about you? Do you have a particular type of case you consult on?”

“Varies.” He answered honestly, “Missing people, serials, homicides, vice occasionally, cold cases generally.”

“What case am I keeping you from now? The one in New York I mean?” Caitriona asked as he poured what she though was rice into the second pot.

“You’re not keeping me from anything major,” He said with a gentle smile and wandered over to the chair and picked up the laptop, “It’s all right here.” A long finger tapped the screen, “A thirty year old cold case, a missing teenager.” He set the machine down on the coffee table and wandered to the bed, “Disappeared from a roadside outside of Vancouver, his mother lives in New York now,” Johnathon held out a hand, “Better que up a text to them.” She obligingly handed over the phone. He tapped out a few messages, pressed send and then dropped the phone onto the bedside table closest to her. “In case you need to send other messages,” He clarified in answer to her questioning look. Caitriona smiled at him, realising that he could have taken the phone, erased the messages and no one would be any the wiser. Instead he had allowed her to snoop and provided her with a convenient way to check her messages were still queued. That is not to say that he couldn’t delete them at the first opportunity when she wasn’t around, her untrusting mind sounded. Caitriona grimaced as a lingering cold shiver worked its way through her recovering body. “Still cold?” He asked, a concerned look flashed her way.

“No. I don’t know where that came from,” She tightened the blanket around her shoulders.

“Shock.” He commented, rising and putting another log in the crackling fire, “It’ll take a little while for your body to work through that,” He straightened, “But in the meantime, plenty of blankets and no sleeping for a while okay?”

“Alright.” She agreed amiably. A small silence fell between them, Caitriona leaned back against the headboard, watching as Johnathon moved quietly around the cabin, stacking bags into the corner, stirring the pots on the stove, stoking the fire, checking the windows, moving things from freezer to fridge, finally settling with long glass filled with ice and ginger ale, which had also been offered to her, minus the ice. He dropped into a large lounge chair, feet crossed at the ankles, laptop resting on his thighs. The dim white screen lit his face, clicking here and there, sipping on the drink. He was naturally quiet, Caitriona mused, comfortable with silence, not seeking to fill it with small talk or white noise, just content to let it be. She watched his blond brows draw together, squinting and leaning forward to study something on the screen. Whatever it was, he evidently found it disagreeable, shaking his head and with a click of finality, he leaned back. If he was a serial killer, he was the most attractive one she’d ever seen, in both looks and nature. She considered the phone, sitting on the table. Should she check? Did she need to? Probably not, but, she sighed softly, she’d trusted Tony and look where that had landed her.

She reached over and collected the device, flicking through the start screen. All the messages were still there, queued and waiting to be sent, along with the three more recent ones of Johnathon’s. She glanced between him and the phone. She normally wasn’t one to snoop, but this was far from normal circumstances. Mentally shrugging she flicked a fingertip over the messages. The first was to an Australian police detective telling them that Johnathon had would look into some case. The second was in reply to a real estate agent, the message having been sent almost a week ago, she looked over at her cabin mate who was still reading quietly. Why, she wondered, had it taken him over a week to reply, particularly when the reply consisted of exactly four words – no, sell it all. The last message was to Jackson Porter, telling him to make a start without him and to notify the local police that he’d found a woman named Caitriona Balfe in a car wreck. She took comfort in that message, confirming her thoughts that this man was indeed not a serial killer. They tended to not want to inform law enforcement of their plans. The serial killer in question had wandered over to the kitchen. A delicious smell, meaty, rich and strangely comforting, wafted from the pot he was stirring. Johnathon rapped the spoon on the side of the pot then turned and placed something Caitriona couldn’t quiet see into the oven beneath the cooktop. A particularly vicious gust of wind rattled the windows closest to her, the small flicks of snow and sleet hitting the glass with a muted tinging sound. Far from easing, the storm seemed to be increasing. Caitriona returned the phone to its resting place, “Do you think it’ll get much worse?”

“Tough to tell,” Johnathon commented, watching the trees outside bend and flex in the windy onslaught, “Certainly isn’t pleasant out there for sure.” He glanced at her, a worried expression washing over her attractive face, “Not to worry though, this cabin has been through worse storms with no worries at all.” The laptop chimed, drawing both their attention. Johnathon walked over and inspected the screen. It was low on power and he wandered over to the bed’s opposite side, dropped the machine onto the surface of the bed, then knelt, plugging in the charger into the wall socket. He stood for a moment, clearly thinking, then began pulling over a chair. He sat down, long legs rather uncomfortably tucked under the chair and pulled the laptop onto his thighs, concentrating on the documents on the screen. She smiled at his chivalrous antics.

The resident serial killer didn’t want to sit on the bed beside her while his laptop charged. She took the opportunity to quietly study him. Blond hair, combed neatly back, longer at the front, shorter at the back, following the contours of his skull. A small furrow in his brow as he concentrated, blue eyes, bright with a thoughtful intelligence, the light of the cabin casting a slight shadow on the high cheekbones and straight line of his nose, the grooves of the philtrum leading to his upper lip, the bottom fuller in the centre than the top. A large hand lifted, long fingers idly scratched his chin, the dark blond stubble rasping softly in the still air. The fingers folded into a fist that tucked against his cheek, leaning on it as he continued to read. She followed the lines of his neck, his adams apple, bobbing as he swallowed, neck muscles strong and defined, sloping down to his shoulders. He was certainly extremely attractive, she reflected, swallowing and laying a hand on her stomach, a warm feeling tingling just below the surface of her skin. He ruggedly handsome in a totally different way to the carefully sculptured, trimmed and manicured look that frequently surrounded her. She almost laughed out loud as her mind compared the look of her rescuer to man she currently assigned in her mind as her significant other. Tony, with skin whiter than her own, dark hair always looking unruly, left far too long, smaller in frame and height.

Though, her mind added, she strongly doubted that Tony would ever have been seemingly content wearing trace pants and sweatshirt in anyone’s company, even a stranger. No, he would have worn a designer shirt and pressed pants, a precise example of a urban business man with an ex model come actress as a significant other. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, she guessed. It was almost a prerequisite he dress that way given her profession. In fact, it had come in handy more than once since Outlander had started to gain traction. There had been plenty of press the flesh and “networking” dinners, lunches and cocktail parties to attend along with an assortment of press junkets and TV talkshow appearances. She’d been glad of a friendly face and Tony had fitted in well with the meet and greet crowd. He had proven to be an excellent plus one, seemingly happy to spend hours small talking with complete strangers. While she made connections with directors, network heads and other actors, he connected with people who were cashed up and always looking to invest in someone or something.

Not a bad situation for a man trying to start a bar and club franchise in greater London. She thought on that for a moment. Was that all their relationship was? No, surely, it had to be more than that. Afterall, Tony was a friend, a good one. He never argued about her decisions. They liked similar things and while the sex, what little of it there had been, hadn’t been earth shattering, it hadn’t been completely disastrous either. They weren’t highly affectionate, but that suited her. She lived in her apartment, he lived in his. The romantic side of her brain told her it wasn’t an ideal situation or the fairy-tale that everyone hopes for. Though, her mind warned, any situation would have been better than LA. That cruel deception had almost broken her and she was determined to never go there again.

Ever.

That is precisely why the shower scene she’d walked into in Seattle had triggered a response. Caitriona closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headboard. She’d run. Run because she’d been afraid. Terrified. Not of a relationship ending. Terrified that she fallen into the same trap and had allowed someone else to deceived her so very badly again. Despite all her safe guards, all her promises to herself, all the rules she now followed, was it happening again? Everyone knew that lightening never struck twice.

No, the common thread was her.

Was she partly to blame for the whole mess she found herself in? Her occupation, her choices, her rules, her past? Was he only that way because of her? In a relationship that really wasn’t a relationship and more of an agreement between friends of mutual advantage? She sighed out loud as that realisation set in.

The answers were all yes and the thought of that suddenly made her feel cold, a reflective shiver passing through her.

Cold and very, very alone.

“Caitriona?” His deep voice sounded like warm liquid honey, trickling down her spine and into her hearing, not altogether unpleasant.

Blue eyes opened to regard him, “It’s alright Johnathon. Not asleep. Just thinking.” Should he ask? Not really his business, but, he could see that shadow. The shadow of sadness lurking back there in the clear pools of blue.

Not his business he reminded himself then leaned forward and lifted the laptop on the bed, “Just a few more hours then you can sleep a bit.” He stood and walked over to the oven, pulling the large glass open. The warm smell of freshly baked bread wafted out, and Johnathon placed a small loaf on a wooden cutting board. He turned then and pulled out two bowls, spooning steaming rice into one of the bowls, then covering it with a delicious smelling thick beef. Not bad for a freezer meal and ready to cook bread, he mused, infinitely glad that he’d cooked double earlier in the week and left half in the freezer. He looked up at her, “Would you like some?”

“No thankyou. I don’t eat red meat or gluten. ”

“Don’t or can’t?” He queried, cutting two thick slices of the bread and sitting them on the edge of the bowl.

“Don’t.” She watched as he walked back to the bed, sat down quietly and began eating with definite intent.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He commented around a mouthful of food, a half grin of his face, “Sure I can’t tempt you?” He offered her the bowl, one eyebrow raised.

“No thanks,” She smiled softly at him, privately thinking that the meal did indeed smell and look delicious, “Besides, I just finished soup and hot chocolate. I’m full.”

“Is your appetite down or that’s about normal?” He balanced the bowl on his knees then attacked its contents with enthusiasm, running the crust of the bread around the bowl sopping up the last of the stew.

“About normal after a day like today.”

He nodded then stood, refilled the bowl, “It has been a bit of day,” Caitriona watched with muted amazement as he polished off the second bowl and started on the third as he leaned on the counter, “Could have been worse though.” He emptied the bowl and started decanting the leftovers into containers.

She thought about that while she watched him tidying up. What would her family have done? What would Tony had done? Would they have even missed her? Would she ever have been found? The not knowing would have driver her father insane. Her family would have mourned her, of that she was certain. Tony? She honestly didn’t know. He would have publicly made all the moves , but privately, she didn’t know how he’d really feel. Move on to better things most likely. She could have laid there in the bottom of that lake for years. An icy death, alone. Lost even in death to her family.

“How close Johnathon?” She asked quietly. He looked over at her, one eyebrow raised in question, soapy suds dripping down his forearms, hitting the dishwater in large drops. “At the lake. How close was it? How much time did I have if you didn’t happen by?”

“As long as you needed I reckon.” He said cryptically then turned back to the sink and finished off the pot setting it dry.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen a lot of close calls. I worked in emergency rescue for a bit,” He commented wiping his hands on a tea towel then coming to resume his seat beside the bed, “ You’d be surprised what strength people find when they are fighting to live.” Blue eyes focused on hers, “And you were fighting. That’s all that matters really.”

“Sounds to me like you’re down playing the role you had in all this,” She held his gaze, half intrigued by his personality and half wanting to just keep him talking to hear his voice, “We both know that door wasn’t opening anytime soon and without you, I couldn’t have gotten the seat belt off. So, how long did I have really?”

“Not long.” The deep voice was soft and gentle and matched the steady gaze, “Five minutes maybe.”

“Five minutes.” She blinked and swallowed, dropping her gaze as the thought of how close she’d really come to dying hit her. Five minutes and she’d have been no more. Her eyes closed, a lone tear escaping from beneath long lashes and trickled down her cheek. Five minutes, not time enough for a coffee. A warm hand curled around her wrist, “Hey, it doesn’t matter if it was five minutes or five hundred minutes.” the strong fingers tightened, “Car is at the bottom of the lake, you’re not.”

She opened her eyes to study his, “Thanks to you.” She said quietly.

He leaned back and shrugged, “Thanks to poorly designed seats and an application of suitable force.”

“Suitable force originating from?” She challenged gently.

“From a simple physical lever system.”

She laughed softly, “A lever system? Called Johnathon?”

He flashed her a lopsided grin, the corner of his mouth making a small dimple in his cheek, “Called it doesn’t matter because it all worked out.”

“That must be awkward to write when you’re filling out forms.”

He smiled broadly at that, finding the intelligent humour behind it intriguing, “Only when I have to fill them out in triplicate.”

Caitriona laughed and conceded defeat. He wasn’t going to accept what she understood all too well he had done.

Johnathon Chase had just saved her life.

 


	2. Acceptance is the First Step

Her eyes blinked open, slowly adjusting to the low light of the cabin. The fire had burned down, barely a dull glow in the large stone lined fireplace, a solitary light in the kitchen chasing the shadows into the dark corners of the room. Caitriona took a breath, one hand resting against her tightly wrapped ribs. They were still sore but the savage stabbing pain of yesterday had eased significantly. She took that as a good sign. Johnathon had told her he didn’t think she’d broken them, more than likely just bruised. Given the ache at the time, Caitriona wasn’t sure she’d agreed with that assessment, but the dozen or so hours of rest she’d had were proving him right. Speaking of her cabin mate, she scanned the room, a brief spark of concern igniting at his absence, until her ears realised the sound of the shower running. 

She relaxed into the comfortable warmth of the bed and listened to the gentle sounds of movement, idly reviewing her situation. Caitriona tentatively wriggled the toes of her injured foot. She sucked in a breath, slamming her eyes shut. Her ankle was as painfully sore as it had been the night before. It took her several long minutes before the offending limb settled again. Clearly, she wasn’t going to be able to move under own steam anytime soon. She glanced towards the window. From her vantage point, it did look as though some of the storm had eased overnight. Branches on several of the tall pine trees outside still shuddered and shook with an occasional gust of wind but they no longer flexed and bowed under the constant strain of the overnight gale. It was still snowing, but not quite as heavily as it had been. Even if the road was open, the thought of jolting and jarring along in a car with her foot the way it was, was enough to leave her feeling slightly lightheaded. 

Caitriona knew she had to go back sometime, even if she really didn’t want to face what waited for her there. And, her mind added, it wasn’t right to keep Johnathon from his work and family either. She turned her head and studied the closed bathroom door. He’d sat with her for a long time the night before, waiting until he was sure that it was safe for her to sleep. They’d passed the time in superficial conversation at first and then later he’d showed her the case he was working. She’d found his work supremely interesting, almost as interesting as the tall man’s thought process which she’d gotten an insight into as he’d patiently answered her questions about some of the details. He was extremely intelligent, that much was perfectly clear. Intelligent and, from what she observed, he tended towards the logical rather than the creative, which made sense to her given his occupation.

He was also persistent. The case he was working on had been stagnating for over 15 years. It was not just cold, it was downright frozen. There was so few clues and evidence leads to follow it was staggering to her that Johnathon had any hope that he could solve it. To her untrained eyes, it appeared absolutely impossible, but there he was, stubbornly working through it, refusing to give up. Caitriona smiled to herself. Intelligent, stubborn and a predilection for adhering to some pretty darn high moral codes. She recalled a specific conversation from the night before when the need for sleep had made itself present. Caitriona had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Johnathon of the stupidity of sleeping cramped up on the couch, when there was a perfectly decent unoccupied side of the bed opposite her. Johnathon had stubbornly maintained that the he would be fine where he was and had continued to argue the point even as he settled on the couch, two long legs sticking out well and truly over the end of the chair, his blond head pillowed awkwardly on the arm rest. She chuckled at the thought. He had looked ridiculously uncomfortable, like a teenager trying to fit into clothing five sizes too small. She’d said as much in one final attempt to sway him, but the tall man had smiled at her, quietly saying it wouldn’t be right and had settled the best he could into the couch. In truth, she secretly found his attitude not only charming but refreshing. He been the perfect gentlemen, if there was such a thing, politely but firmly refusing her offer. If he did turn out to be a serial killer, psychopath or otherwise social deviant, he would be the most morally polite one she’d ever heard off. 

Johnathon Chase was certainly a distinct contrast to the other men, both friends and lovers, that had drifted in and out of her life. Most would have climbed over each other in the race to jump into bed with a woman, regardless of her innocent intentions. Dave had, without a single hesitation, Sam would have because he wouldn’t want to turn down the invitation for fear of offending the woman, and Tony, well Tony, she mentally paused, Tony probably would have slept there and then thought about how it he could use it to benefit himself. Her harsh critique caused her to scowl. Was that fair on him? Was it all his fault? After all, wasn’t that exactly what she was doing also? Using him as plus one, an uncomplicated relationship that required very little energy to maintain? She let out sigh, as her mind accepted her own complicity. Granted, she hadn’t done what Tony had in that shower in Seattle, but she hadn’t immediately stopped Sam when he’d started to test the boundaries of friendship all those months ago. She’d willingly and openly danced on that fine line with Sam. Complicit under the excuse of work and good PR. Never openly crossing it, but going about as close as one could in the process. This entire situation had gone on this long, partially because Caitriona felt good around Sam and partially because Tony had seen it all happening and had said nothing. He hadn’t shared one complaint with her, not even a hint of discomfort. Wasn’t that what she had told Tony she wanted? A relationship that was simple with no drama. She couldn’t go through LA. Not again. Not ever. She didn’t have the strength or time for it, not with her work on Outlander. Low maintenance, low commitment, private, just there to support each other. That was the only relationship she thought she had wanted. Lately however, the cost of keeping that relationship up and running was anything but low maintenance. If the horrendous events in Seattle did nothing else, they had certainly brought to the surface some very uncomfortable feelings of guilt, uncertainty, anger and a level emotional upheaval that Caitriona felt woefully unprepared to deal with. It would be easier to come to terms with it all if it was just Sam, or Tony alone that were the problem. The more she thought, the longer she digested it, the clearer it became. She was just as much a part of the problem as they were. A tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek. It hurt to admit that. It hurt even more to realise she had no idea how she was going to fix this. The only thing Caitriona really understood now was that she had to do something. 

Something had to change. 

She wished she knew exactly what that something was.


	3. Tomorrow

She’d give him another ten minutes. Just ten more, then after that, she would let the panic that she’d been talking herself around for last two hours take control. The light was fading, the wind had doubled in the last half hour and the snow was now falling so heavily that Caitriona had trouble seeing more than a few feet out the window and he still hadn’t returned. Johnathon had left earlier in the day to climb the small mountain in an effort to get signal on the phone and alert the outside world of her whereabouts.

The weather had been reasonably good then and Johnathon had explained it shouldn’t take him more than a few hours. That was four hours ago and Caitriona was really beginning to worry. If anything happened to him what on earth would she do? She could barely hobble more than a few feet, even on the crutches that Johnathon had found tucked away in the attic. If he was hurt out there, she had no way of helping him or of even helping herself. She glanced at the clock. Eight minutes. Flicking the blankets back and mentally bracing herself against the anticipated pain, she slowly lifted her leg, swinging it over the edge of the bed and fumbling for the crutches. She sucked in a breath as her foot hung down towards the floor, the blood throbbing painfully to the joint. “Breathe.” She murmured, her mind recalling the gentle instruction Johnathon had quietly spoken to her earlier that day when he’d wrapped her ankle again, “Just breathe.” If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost hear him, the deep timbre of his voice, soft patience in his clear blue eyes, the warmth of his hand on her arm as he’d knelt before her, waiting with her for the pain to pass. Now, like then, the pain began to ease with each breath, at least to the point where it no longer left red streaks darting behind her eyelids.

Six minutes. Shaking hands gripped the crutches and Caitriona awkwardly hauled herself unsteadily to her feet. Breathe. After every small step she was forced to stop, wait for the pain to ease, then take another wobbly, off balance step. It took every bit of concentration she had not to topple over. Fortunately, concentration seemed to take priority over panic, every step helping her to calm herself. Three more steps and she’d be level with the kitchen bench. Step and breathe. Four minutes. She was almost there when she heard them. The distinctly heavy thud of boots on the front porch. The door pushed inwards bringing with it a gust of frozen air and the snow dusted blond head of Johnathon. Worried blue eyes met his, taking in his tall, solid form. “Thank God.” She said on a long breath as her eyes slid closed. The relief of seeing him, alive and in one piece, flooded through her, hands shaking as the crutches absently clanked to the floor. In an instant he seemed to be beside her, a strong arm wrapping around her waist, holding her steady, “Think you better sit down before you fall down.” His deep voice was calm and flowed like honey into her mind, smoothing the sharp edges of nervous worry that had been grating on her for what seemed like hours. Caitriona gave up trying to speak and instead mutely nodded, laying an arm across his coat covered shoulders, leaning into him, letting him half carry her as together, they hobbled towards the couch. Johnathon slowly lowered Caitriona into the seat, “Foot up.” He bent, chilled fingers gently gripped the back of her leg, causing her muscles to tense slightly. “Sorry.” He lifted her ankle, resting it on a cushion and reaching for one of the folded blankets, holding one edge, flicking it open then tucking the edges of the blanket around her legs, “Better?” He asked quietly sitting back on his haunches, blue eyes searching hers.

She nodded, “What happened Johnathon?” Her voice was slightly uneven, still coloured with equal measures of concern and relief, “I thought you were only going to be a few hours. It was getting dark, the weather was getting worse and I didn’t know what was going on.” It came out faster than she wanted it to. She took a breath in an effort to stop the cascade of what she was sure must sound like inane babble, tumbling from her mouth. “You could have been hurt and I would have been useless to help.” She dropped her gaze, hating herself for sounding like an irrational fool, staring at an errant crease in the blanket instead. He was little more than a stranger, there was nothing between them and yet the utter relief of seeing him safe had made her crumble like a deck of cards. Just one more log on the emotional fire of confusion that seemed to be constantly raging inside her mind lately. She lifted an unsteady hand and brushed the hair back from her forehead, “I'm the one who should be sorry. This is the last thing I’m sure you need to be dealing with after hiking through a storm to send my stupid messages.”

“It’s alright.” He offered her a soft smile, “The storm last night caused a lot of timber fall on the trail. It took me longer than I thought to get up there.” He dug into his coat pocket and retrieved the phone, “All the messages sent though and,” He shot her a lopsided grin, “Once I got decent signal up there, the phone wouldn’t stop buzzing and ringing.” He passed the offending object over, “Seems you were most certainly missed. A couple of calls came in while I was speaking with the local police. They went to voicemail, so you’ll have to wait until we get signal tomorrow to hear them.”  
“Tomorrow?” She looked up at him as he stood up and shucked out of the coat, looping it over his arm.  
“Tomorrow. Apparently the road is opened closer to town, but they are expecting heavy snowfall to arrive sometime in the next two days.” He perched himself on the coffee table beside her resting foot and began untying his laced boots, “We’ll head for town as soon as it’s light tomorrow.” Johnathon pulled one foot free with a slight grunt, “See if we can’t get out of here before the next storm comes through." A second boot joined its mate, "Sound okay?"  
“Can we get through after the weather today?” Caitriona glanced towards the now dark window, the wind blowing the occasional white flake against its clear surface.  
“We’ll give it go. Might be slow going, but worth a try.” Johnathon said standing ,tossing the boots in a reckless pile beside the log basket, “But in the meantime, I’m going to have a hot shower and get dry clothes,” He started walking towards the bathroom, untucking his shirt on his way, “You have a few texts there that you might want to look at.” Then he was gone, the bathroom door clicking shut, an empty silence settling over the room.

Tomorrow. She would have to face up to all of this for real tomorrow. No more thinking, no more pondering and considering. It would all come rushing back in full force. Tomorrow. Sam, Tony, production, the whole outfit. If her ankle was broken that would push filming back. She still had a four week break left of the hiatus but if recovery was to take longer than that, an expensive delay would be inevitable. All the crew who depended on the show for a job would be forced to wait, not to mention the stress a delay of wages would mean to them. Production and crew would be pissed off at her and rightfully so. Going on a road trip because she was upset wasn’t exactly the smartest idea she’d ever had. It ranked right up with there with deciding to go to Sam Heughan’s room after witnessing your significant other entertaining two guests privately in your own hotel room.

Caitriona glanced at the phone in her hand, wondering if either of them had anything more to say about that whole debacle. She swiped a finger across the screen, unlocking it and looking at the message folder. “Oh holy Christ!” She cursed aloud. A few messages? She shot a dark look at the closed bathroom door. Johnathon Chase, the lord of the understatement. There were precisely 84 unread messages and ten voicemail notifications. She decided on production as her first target. They were organising transport of her family and retrieval of the car, along with a medical specialist that she would be required to visit in New York. Depending upon what their diagnosis was, she was scheduled to fly out back to Glasgow as soon as possible to begin costuming for the upcoming season. That got rid of 14 of the 84 messages. So far, nothing too bad.

Her family was next. There were three messages from her mother and father, which in itself was fairly novel. Both parents steadfastly refusing to text, claiming that if they wanted to talk to someone they would call them up or go and see them. They were preparing to fly out from Ireland when these messages were sent, which would mean that by now they would be well and truly on their way. Her parents would, according to several of the messages be accompanied, by her eldest sister, Sarah, who had also recruited another sister, Deidra, currently working in New York. The plan, as far as Caitriona could decipher from the mixture of message senders, was for her family to unite in New York and then travel to her. That cleared out another 15 messages. Maybe things wouldn't be as bad as she thought.

On the other hand, she sighed loudly, recognising the next number in the line of messages as Tony’s. Mentally bracing herself, she opened the texts. All of messages, just seven of them, centred around a common thread, that being Tony attempting to explain what she’d seen in that Seattle hotel. First, it was under the guise of a misunderstanding, then as a mistake on his part, and finally, landing the blame squarely on her own shoulders. He’d done it, according to this theory, because she had been busy and distant towards him. Busy, yes. She agreed with that whole heartedly. It was part of the job, part of her responsibility as the star of this contraption. She did take exception to the insinuation that they had become distant. 'Become distant' implied that they had, at some point, been something other than that. As far as she had been able to tell, things were exactly the same as they had always been. They hadn't become that way, they always were that way. Point and case was before her very eyes. She had left furious, fallen off the grid with no contact and the best he could do was offer justification? There was no are you alright Caitriona, or anything resembling something along the lines of I’m glad you’re okay. Just avoidance and blame. She deleted the messages from the phone as she read them, wishing her mind was similarly configured. She could press a button on a phone and the words disappeared, lost forever into the emptiness of cyberspace ether, never to see the light of day again. Her conscience however, didn't possess such a button and left to its own devices, in the quiet stillness of the room, fueled by guilt, guided by regret and driven by uncertainty, it tended to think in circles. Maybe she was reading too much into this. After all, she tried to reason with herself, things had been going okay before that night in the hotel. If the relationship was really as toxic and unfulfilling as she was more recently considering, wouldn’t she have detected it before? She didn’t like to think she was that stupid and oblivious, but right now, in this moment, she wasn’t so sure. Had the signs been there this whole time? Had she, in an effort to not repeat LA, fallen headlong into something that was just as bad? Circle complete. It was maddening to her. She scowled and shook her head, hoping to physically dislodge the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind. It didn't work, instead her mind made another connection as her eyes read the number of the next sender. Sam. 51 messages. Most of the messages contained some variation of him professing his feelings for her, several, in quite graphic details that left her face warmed with embarrassment and her quickly pressing the delete button. Some were trying to convince her that their professional relationship didn’t have to change even if their private one happened to. A moot point, she argued with herself. Things had already changed because of it. She couldn’t even begin to process how awkward work would be right now. It was one of the main reason’s she stopped him and was determined to not go there. She was being professional. This was her shot. Maybe her only shot at this business and she had no intention of screwing it up with an off set relationship. Caitriona needed Sam to be able to do this job well. Needed the actor, not the man. Things may well be difficult now, but a relationship that went bad with her on screen lover would be a show ending, possibly career killing mistake. She knew it, even if Sam thought otherwise. She had to be the adult, even if Sam wasn't.

Life wasn’t meant to be easy, but no one ever warned her it would be one shit storm after another. Worse, no one ever told her about the way this would make her feel. Like she was failing at everything and everyone. She hated it. Hated doubting herself and hated that feeling of uncertain dependence most of all. She'd tried to be independent her entire life. She'd left home early, left the shelter of her family, needing to do things her own way. She'd been successful at it as a model. Caitriona hadn't expected that to change when she'd left that insipid lifestyle behind, taking a chance on acting. But it had changed. She gone from entirely independent and in control of almost everything, to relying on Sam for her job, relying Tony for her plus one at events and now, even relying on a practical stranger in Johnathon Chase, to get her back on her feet. Dependent and helpless to control anything right now. She couldn’t even walk ten steps on her own for Christ’s sake.

Caitriona ran a frustrated hand through her hair and tossed the phone on the table, letting her head fall back against the chair. Her mind was about to continue its frustrating contemplation of her situation and life in general, when a mark on a sheet of paper caught her eye. It was laying on the table, beside the phone she’d angrily tossed there moments ago, the silver of a set of car keys stark against the white background. A neat black script, indicating her name decorated the top of the paper. Her dark brows drew together as she sat up and reached for it.

Caitriona, the letter read,  
Here are the keys to the ute and a map with the road marked that will get you to town. The red circle is the section of the road where you’ll get signal for the GPS and the ute's two-way radio signal to call for help. It’s a about ten miles from the cabin but it  
should be doable once the snow stops enough to be able to see where you’re going. There is spare water and food in the ute and plenty of blankets. Don’t worry about me or anything else, wait for the weather to clear and get yourself back to your family. I know you can do this if you have to and if something happens, just stop, breathe and wait for the pain to pass. It always does.

Johnathon

P.S. Pro tip: Stay clear of sharp corners and icy lakes.

She glanced at the bathroom door and smiled, shaking her head at his smart ass post script and sniffling back a tear. 'I know you can do this if you have to' , he had written. The context between his thought and her situation was slightly different, she recognised that but....

She took a deep clearing breath and let it out.

Stranger or not, Caitriona hoped Johnathon Chase was right.

Could she do this?

Tomorrow she would find out.


	4. Goodbye

She winced as a bump in the uneven road momentarily jarred her ankle. The road conditions were atrocious but, with another winter storm due in the next day or so, they had decided to try for town as early as they could rather than possibly be isolated for another three or four days in the least. Caitriona flicked her gaze to the driver, his brow tight in concentration as he slowly turned, dodged and maneuvered the 4WD ute through the drifts and snow falls on a very slick road that at times became no more than two wheel tracks.

“Half way there Caitriona.” Clear, blue eyes met hers in a gentle apology, “Need a break?” He knew some of the bumps and jolts he’d been unable to avoid were hurting her but there was nothing he could do about it. It was either drive through it or end up a ditch or not get through at all.  
She shook her head, “No. It’s alright. Not so bad really considering the road.” Even she could see that anymore snow and ice on this road and it would truly become impassable. His hands tightened around the wheel, trying to navigate the twists and turns of the mountain pass road towards the small town in the valley. Half an hour later, several unsteady slides and slips behind them, the road finally began to level out, eventually widening, after they crossed a long single lane bridge spanning a partially frozen, deep river, rolling rapids near its stony banks.

Ordinarily, she would have viewed it as a scene of natural beauty, but not today. Today, her mind was in turmoil and the mountain surroundings were lost on her, replaced by the emotional upheaval she’d been struggling with before the crash. She felt like a pendulum in large grandfather clock, swinging back and forth, one arc determined to change her life, change her relationships, change the future. The other looping arc bringing such a feeling of guilt for her part in all this, that change seemed like a fanciful dream rarely spoken of much less realised. Looking out at the rippling water of the flowing river, she knew that once the natural scene faded, connected civilisation would come charging back at her. Tony, Sam, production, even her family. It was all waiting for her. Production she could avoid for little while longer, but her family, they were already there. She suspected Tony might even be there, but was silently hoping that he wouldn’t be. She wondered idly as the road once dirt and snow, gave way to slate grey paved surface, smooth and wide, what would he expect from her? Forgiveness? Acceptance? She mentally sighed and tried erase the memory of what she’d seen in that hotel room. She’d accepted her part in all of this. She had never really showed anything other than a passing interest in him, at least publicly. Privately, they had spent some time together, not particularly intimate time, but time none the less and Tony had indicated to her that he was as okay with that so long as she was. It had been wrong of her to do that, expect that. Clearly it hadn't been as successful as she'd thought it had been. That didn’t mean that she had been at all prepared to face an open betrayal trust. Trust. Unspoken but expected. Maybe they had been on different pages all along. Caitriona wasn't entirely sure what it was anymore. Whatever it had been, in her mind, it had never included screwing other people. She shook her head. Trust to betrayal was a just one second ride. The journey from betrayal to trust took a life time, no matter who was to blame.

They crested one last small rise and there it was. A small town, looking very much like a postcard that you might see in a shop, a typical small mountain town, a single street down the centre, a bar, a gas station, a grocery store, a diner, several agricultural and outdoor stores and at the end of the street a larger building, the medical centre. Here, there seemed to be an incongruous amount of cars and assorted vehicles. Busiest place in town, her mind mused as Johnathon stopped the car under the overhang. The words, 'Emergency Entrance' emblazoned on the red and white doors. “Let me get you a wheelchair.” His voice though quiet, suddenly seemed a million miles away. She nodded absently at him and watched as he strode across the walkway, slipping for a few steps on an icy section before steadying himself and disappearing inside the red and white doors.

Johnathon returned a few moments later, wheelchair out in front of him, two large blankets hanging over one shoulder. A cold wind blew in as he opened the door and offered her his hand. She looked at it a moment, unsure if she wanted to leave the car, knowing that this was it. The end of the sheltered peace and quiet. It was here, it was upon her. Blue eyes looked up to his, nervous and unsure. He blinked slowly at her, then he half crouched, leveling their eye lines, letting her eyes search his.

She wanted to run. Johnathon could see it in her eyes, circulating round and round in the soft pools of blue. Run from what had brought her here in the first place. He knew the look. He’d seen it in his own face. He’d run, hid himself away, until the wounds had scabbed over, the healing far from done, but at least now, the bleeding had stopped and he could stand again. Or at least, he thought he could. He’d had a week in that cold damn cabin, alone, slowly recovering. She’d had three days. She was afraid, unsure. Was she ready for all this? His head tilted sightly to one side but those blue eyes held hers a moment. She would have to be ready, turning back now was not an option.

 

He let his eyes flick from his waiting hand and back to her face. He raised a blonde eyebrow and gave the smallest of nods then waited. She took a deep breath then closed her fingers around his. His grip was sure as he helped her out of the truck and into the wheelchair, tucking a warm blanket around her knees then standing and draping one across her shoulders. She looked up at him and reached for his hand, “Johnathon?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Thank you.” Handsome features studied her as she spoke, “For everything. Just..” She swallowed back a lump in her throat but unsuccessfully stopped an errant tear drop rolling down her cheek, “Just thank you.”  
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze then reached up and thumbed the tear from her face, “You’re welcome Caitriona.” Her eyes closed at his touch for the smallest moments before the warmth disappeared as he stood up straight. “Best get you inside, your family will be waiting for you.” He gripped the back of the chair and moved it to face the large admittance doors, “Ready?”

  
She took another deep breath and nodded. The doors opened and a large nurse met them just inside the doors, “I’ll take her from here Mr Chase.” She nudged the tall man out of the way and took over the driving of the chair, “The doctor would will see you straight away,” She addressed Caitriona, “and your parent are already here.” She pointed through a large set of double doors that lead to the examination rooms and started to wheel her away. Caitriona looked back over her shoulder as the large doors opened.

He was standing, hands in his pockets, blue eyes watching her. Johnathon gave her a slight nod of his head, one corner of his mouth curling into a soft half smile. She tried to smile back, warm tears sliding down her cheeks as she watched the doors slowly swinging back together, eventually closing with a soft click,  “Goodbye,” She whispered, then squared her shoulders and turned to face the immediate future, whatever that might be.

 


	5. Guilt

She’d never really thought about how noisy a hospital really was. You tended to think of hospitals as quiet places, where death roamed the hallways, soundless, silent, unforgiving. Not this hospital, small and provincial that it was. From where she was lying Caitriona could hear any number of sounds, primarily the half muted conversations of her family, who weren’t known for their reserved natures. They’d already been into the room once. Her mother and father, doctors, two of her sisters. All of them talking, all of them holding her hand, touching her, asking her questions, telling her how worried they were. She’d smiled, accepted the hugs, the kisses, patiently answered what she could and all the while wishing for nothing more than the quiet of the cabin and calm, unobtrusive presence of its attractive owner. 

“There’s no real need for you to stay overnight,” the doctor was explaining to her “You can go home, so long as you stay off the ankle as much as you can for at least two weeks and attend some physical therapy.” He was young but seemed reasonably competent, “Just sign these release papers and you’re all set to go.” He handed her the clipboard with a smile, “I’ll tell your family you’ll be out soon.” Caitriona thanked him quietly then leaned back against the pillows for a moment. Once she left this room, the peaceful solitude of the last three days would evaporate like mist in the midday sun. In truth, it hadn’t seemed like three days. If it hadn’t been for the nagging pain of her still very swollen and bruised foot, the time in the cabin would have verged on enjoyable. She had surprised herself at the level of companionable comfort that she’d felt around the blond man since their meeting. He was quiet and non-assuming, had given her the respectful distance she hadn’t even realised she’d needed. 

Not an easy task given the size of the cabin. He'd taken care of her, both before and after finding out who exactly she was and what she did. While her face wasn’t as well known as some others in her industry, fame had recently started to catch up with her and with that came the distinct possibility that some people only wanted friendship because of who she was, what she could do for them. She’d experienced some of that in the height of her modelling career and had learned from it the hard, painful and devastating way. Now, she was very careful about who she let into her life, perhaps overly careful and sometimes that defensive wall was mistaken as aloof distance or worse, some form superiority. It was one of the reason’s she’d been involved with Tony. He’d known her a long time, having come into her life after her modelling but before Outlander. She’d felt reasonably safe with him. Safe that what she had become wouldn’t matter to him. Safe that they had at least a solid foundation of respect between them even if their relationship wasn’t as romantically intimate as it perhaps could have been. Coming to the realisation that he wasn’t as safe as she’d thought. She wasn’t going to lie to herself and say that the relationship she had with Tony was soul deep sensually intimate love that she played on screen. It wasn’t. It had never been and would never be. She’d settled for safe practicality. The sting in the tail had been not that Tony was having sex with other people, but that he hadn’t even bothered to tell her that he had wanted to. She wasn’t overly attracted to him physically, that was true and they didn’t behave particularly closely or have a very active sex life, it had become something of a low priority, but she did at least believe that he would be honest with her. Instead he’d done the opposite. It had left her feeling that there was absolutely no one around her that could be trusted. So she’d run. Run from them all and ended up here.

She looked at the empty doorway then down at her foot. She’d gone for x-rays on her ankle, which had proved Johnathon’s diagnosis to be entirely accurate. It was a sprain, a severe one, a painful one, but a sprain none the less. Running wasn’t really an option now was it, she mused ironically. She carefully lifted the moonboot encased foot onto the wheelchair footplate, released the brake and wheeled for the door. Caitriona had barely cleared the threshold when her mother and father appeared. Her father immediately accepting the responsibility of steering the chair, her mother taking the paper bag filled with the clothes she’d been wearing upon arrival. She smiled at the both then her eyes fell on Tony. He was standing behind the family group, an empty expression on his face, a cup of coffee in his hand, watching her as they wheeled towards him down the long corridor. As she drew close, he bent, “Let’s get you out of here shall we?” he said quietly, kissing her cheek and nodding towards the door, “I’ve already gotten us a room at the only motel in town.” She nodded and half smiled, fully aware of her parents watching the entire scene. At least he seemed to care enough to have flown in with her family. Maybe she was judging him too harshly. After signing the last of the necessary papers, Caitriona found herself sitting in a car, Tony beside her driving the short distance to the motel for the night. She presumed her mother and father would take one room, Sarah and Deidre another and, as uncomfortable as it may be, her and Tony in their own room. Her family knew nothing of what had happened in Seattle. She had a great relationship with all the members of her family, but that didn’t mean she was open book, not even to them. She had always been privateabout certain aspects of her personal life. Caitriona had only introduced Tony to them because word had filtered around through social media, pervasive press that were digging deeper around her and incidentally, through well-meant inquiries from friends and acquaintances, that she had been seeing someone and, her father being the ex-policeman and ever protective of her no matter what her age or her consternation, had point blanked asked her about him. She couldn’t lie to her father and so, she’d reluctantly admitted she was seeing Tony, but that it wasn’t serious. That had been over a year ago. Was it serious? Had it ever been from that point to now?

The car stopped and she was helped into the small, though surprising well appointed room, a large double bed set in the middle of the room. Sitting down on its soft surface, she let out a sigh as her mother carefully lifted her injured foot on the bed.  
“Is there anything else you need sweetheart?” Her mother fluffed a pillow and elevated her daughter’s foot.  
“No Mum, It’s okay. Really.” Caitriona offered a smile as her mother kissed her forehead. “Thank you but I’m fine.”  
“Had enough of the fuss already have you?” Marie patted her daughter’s cheek. Some things never changed, she thought. Children may grow up and think they are different people, but, she looked at the strong independent woman who had always gone her own way sitting there, and knowing without a doubt it was the same strong willed, high spirited child that she'd watched over all her life.  
“Just a bit tired.” Caitriona said somewhat apologetically, knowing her parents had come a long way, suffered a lot of stress over concern for her safety. She didn’t mean to brush that concern off, and it certainly wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate them, but it had been a very long day, she was hurting, she was tired and she glanced over as Tony carried in two bags and sat them on a low formed bench, there was still that to deal with.  
“Been a bit of day.” She reached up and took her mother’s hand, “Thank you though, Mum. For being here. You and Dad both.”  
Her mother smiled and squeezed her hand, “Speaking of your father, I had best go and get him sorted. Heaven forbid he try and get something out of our suitcases. I’ll be three weeks sorting out the mess.” She straightened and walked to the door, “If you need anything, be sure to call for me Caitriona.” She gave her a daughter a no nonsense look, “No matter what time, if you need me, call.”  
The door closed, leaving just the two of them in the awkward stilted silence. Tony leaning against the counter, quiet, almost twitchy with clear tension. Caitriona looked at him, a neutral expression on her face. Neutral because that is what she felt. Nothing one way or the other. Not anger, not regret, not anything. What were they to each other now, she wasn’t sure. Realistically, had there ever really been a committed relationship in their future together? Could they have continued the way they were for an indefinite amount of time and been happy? Had she ever really been happy?

She watched as he pushed off the bench and came to sit beside her on the opposite side of the bed. He looked pale, dark hair a little disheveled, it’s typical normal state. Tony looked over the rim of his glasses as he spoke, “Do you,” He cleared his throat then continued, “Do you want to talk now or just..”  
Caitriona looked down at her hands resting in her lap then back to his face, “What do you want to talk about?”  
“Us.”  
“Us?” She looked up at him, mentally trying to erase the memory of what she’d seen in that hotel room. Tony half bent over in the shower, some stranger’s cock buried to the hilt in his ass and some blonde woman’s mouth wrapped his own cock, moans, grunts and the wet sound of bodies slapping against each other. Tony’s head had turned and for a moment they’d locked eyes before she’d turned on her heel and left, slamming the door with all the force she could muster. They hadn’t spoken since. He’d called her several times, she’d ignored them, and stupidly spent the remainder of the night drinking, ending up in Sam’s hotel room. That had only served to complicate matters to whole other level. Then she’d run. Gotten away from all of it, from them both, even from herself, by driving. That been working pretty damn great until she’d run off the road and almost drowned in a frozen lake.   
“Us Caitriona.” Tony reached for one of her hands, “I know you’re angry with me but,” He squeezed her fingers as he spoke, “It was a mistake and it won’t happen again.”  
His touch was cold, almost clammy, weak and unsure. “A mistake?” She queried, surprisingly calm, “Did the two people you were having sex with in my hotel room have the same opinion?”   
“Caitriona, please,” He begged, his dark eyes misting over with tears, real or imagined, she didn’t know which, “It was a one time thing. I just,” He stopped and swallowed.  
“You just?”   
“Look babe,” Tony explained, dropping his gaze, unable to stand the scrutiny of her eyes any longer, “It’s just been so hectic, what between the your show, the travel and awards circuit. It’s been a lot to deal with is all.”  
“Has it?” She challenged, her voice coloured with disbelief, “I thought you were okay with it? You seemed to enjoy the parties. You told me it was great networking for you. When did that change?”   
“It was, it is, I am Caitriona.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair, the dark brown curls splaying out from the arms of his glasses, “I didn’t mean that I don’t like what you do.”  
“Then what exactly is it that you don’t like Tony?” Her voice came out louder and sounded harsher than she wanted it to, “Me? Is that what that little exhibition in Seattle was supposed to tell me? That you’d rather do god knows what with whoever the fuck they were, then to have the common decency to speak to me like an adult?” This was it. She wanted it all out there. She wanted to know, needed to know. Enough pussyfooting around, out with it.  
“That is not fair Caitriona.” He stood, slowly pacing back and forth along the edge of the bed, “After everything that I put up with.”  
“Everything you put up with? Like what? Canvasing investors for your club at some of the most exclusive events in the world? Staying in seven star hotels, travelling first class around the world? Getting regular access to fortune 500 company directors and executives? Is that what you have to put up with Tony?”

It was true. All of it. He suddenly found himself caught off-guard by her frank admissions. In face of the truth, he went straight to his fall-back position, Sam Heughan. “No Caitriona, what I have to put up with is every social media site, gossip column and entertainment press site constantly informing me and half the world that you are currently fucking Sam Heughan. And before you try and deny it, do not sit there and tell me you haven’t noticed him fawning over you all the time?” This was her soft spot and he knew it.   
“I don’t control Sam or the internet. You know damn well there is nothing between Sam and I. Christ Tony, you were there when I made that decision, when I first started Outlander. I told you I wasn’t going to get involved with anyone in this business!” Her eyes snapped at him, her voice short and clipped, “I haven’t. I wouldn’t do that to you or anyone else I was seeing.”   
In truth, he didn’t give a rat’s ass if she was fucking Sam. Tony was more than happy to stay out of the spotlight when it suited him. After all, he was under no illusions what it was they were doing. She needed a beard and a companion to do the Hollywood networking with and he needed to make connections through the network opportunities that she provided. She was also a real boost to his ego. She was beautiful, talented, highly intelligent and opened doors that would normally be shut. He was nothing more than ordinary, his business endeavours were in serious danger of slipping into obscurity, not to mention bankruptcy. Clearly the benefits of being her, whatever he was to her, was far more advantageous to him than being without her. He had to try, he strategised, try and at least stay with her. He knew her well enough to know that with her already thinking of leaving, there was only one way to stop her.

Guilt. 

With some women, it was money, some it was the hope for love, with Caitriona it was guilt. Guilt could lead her make very questionable decisions. He was already up to his eyeballs in debt with this latest club and badly needed high end investors in the next month or so or face total financial ruin. Caitriona wasn’t the only way to get out of this type of trouble, but, at this stage, she was easiest. An appearance or two at one of his other clubs would boost revenue enough to tide things over until the new club was on its feet. He needed her, needed where she could take him. There was a time when he’d genuinely felt bad for using her like that, but somewhere along the way, rightly or wrongly, he’d come to view it as payment for services rendered. “Look,” Tony softened his voice, “I know you wouldn’t Caitriona. I know it’s what you need to do for this job, the narrative, the press, production. All of it, I get it. I do.” He sat back down on the bed beside her. “It just hurts sometimes to read that stuff you know?”

She did know. Sometimes it hurt her to read some of things people wrote about her, but she understood all too well why they wrote it. To the outside world it DID look like she was fucking Sam Heughan. Sam didn’t help matters, constantly pushing the boundaries in the name of promoting Mr and Mrs Outlander, and after that fiasco in his room in Seatle, was she really in a position to throw stones at Tony? Yes, she understood alright. Understood she was part of this whether she wanted to be or not, whether it was true or not. Press was press and Caitriona and Sam made press. Production actively encouraged the whole thing, almost ordering it. It was good for business, it kept their show in the spotlight. It also meant that while the spotlight was on her and Sam, the rest of her life was left alone, something she was determined to make happen. So, she’d played along. It was act, part of the job. What she hadn’t done was look at it from Tony’s point of view. It can’t be easy and if the roles were reversed, would she be as understanding?

“Caitriona,” He squeezed her hand, “Please. It won’t happen again, I swear.” He turned his body towards her, “Can we just forget it ever happened? Please?”

Could she forget? Did she even want to? She guessed she at least owed him a chance, after everything, all the events, the parties she’d dragged him too, the months during heavy filming when they would barely see each other. He was right, the constant press innuendo that she was having a more than professional relationship with Sam Heughan would be hard to swallow on top of everything else. A chance then? Couldn’t she give him that, owed him that? Tony lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, “Can we please just go back to the way we were Caitriona? I don’t want to lose this. Things can be different. We will really try this time, yeah? Forgive me please?”


	6. If Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Johnathon information this week. Cait's decision will be next week. :)

Johnathon watched as Caitriona was slowly wheeled away, disappearing as the hospital doors swung shut with a gentle sense of finality. That was that. He’d gotten her back safely, back to her family, back to her life. He turned, giving the door one last look and walked quietly back to the car. He hoped she would be alright now. 

He yanked opened the car door and slid into the seat, resting his hands on the wheel. He gazed at the hospital building, wondering if whoever had hurt Caitriona, hurt and her and made her run, would be there with her in that hospital. Probably come in with her family, he surmised. Johnathon hoped that whoever he was, he would at least be a man and either fix the situation or make sure Caitriona came out of it all still standing. She hadn’t told him the details and he hadn’t pressed her, but clearly someone, somewhere had done a number on her. 

Still, it wasn’t really any of his business. They may have spent three days in the same cabin, but neither of them had really engaged in what anyone could call in-depth conversation. They had both been too busy dealing with their own particular demons to even consider that. There’d been long stretches of silence and some polite conversation but that was about the extent of it.  
Blond brows knit as his mind drifted back. It hadn’t really been anything one thing the tall woman had said to him, but rather an overall feeling the subject of her quiet introspection had been of a personal, rather than professional nature.

Not his business reminded himself again as he leaned back and started the engine. It wasn’t like he didn’t have his own share of problems to deal with. He turned the car down the road towards the motel. Deal with wasn’t really the correct term, more like overcome, he pondered. The time in cabin had helped, he felt that, but it was still there. The fresh hurt of it all, simmering just below the surface. Johnathon hoped Katherine was at least happy, though for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine that she would be. Not with Stephen of all people, but that decision wasn’t Johnathon’s to make. Katherine had been pretty clear about exactly what she thought about Johnathon now. She’d made her decision. There was no turning back. She wouldn’t and he couldn’t. 

Johnathon parked the car, squeezing his hands against the cold leather of the wheel. It was done, the invisible tether that bonds two people, severed. The damage so severe that not even love could help either of them now. Love, he shook his head introspectively, most dangerous substance on earth. Johnathon had faced a lot of hurdles in his life, but this, he took a deep breath, this was taking some defeating. He let out a long slow breath and went to see about organising a room, only to find that he had taken the last available room, the whole place booked out with a mixture of press, Caitriona’s family and management apparently. She’d told him she was an actor in some cable show. He’d never heard of her or the show, not that that was unusual. Television wasn’t something he’d ever had a lot of time to watch, in fact, apart from the occasional sports broadcast and, of course the news, he wouldn’t have the first clue about actors, television or celebrities in general. Though, he opened the door of his motel and set his bags down, if Caitriona had been some type of A list celebrity, he'd have though her name would have triggered some type of recognition at least. Still, her temporary disappearance from mainstream society had been enough to warrant a small contingency of press. Caitriona didn’t behave like most of the celebrities he’d had the misfortune to meet or been assigned to. He smiled, though she did have a stubborn streak. That was a general attribute most celebrities seemed to have. In any case, he reflected as he decided to go and hunt down some dinner, this sleepy little town was about to get its own dose of celebrity, complete with press and corporate shenanigans. He closed the door and started to walk down the main street to the bar. It wasn’t far and Johnathon be able sit, have a drink and get some food. Maybe, he’d occupy himself with people watching. It was habit that had become automatic behaviour. Part of his job. One he was good at. He’d taken leave from that job for the first time only a week before. He’d had to. His mind had been turned inside out and victims’ families deserved to have someone who had their entire mind on the job. Deciding some time away might help, he’d taken a week off and disappeared off the grid. 

Into the mountains. 

Into solitude.

Trying to find answers and finally realising that there were no answers to find. 

Just endurance. 

He ordered a scotch and sat down at a table facing the street window. Endure or give up. He sipped the cold liquid, a pleasant warmth starting in his belly. He could never give up, it wasn’t in him and so, endure it was. Tomorrow he would head back. Back to the world and all its problems. Back to, he took another sip, back to no one now, not her, not them, not anything. Just work. The finality of it all was still raw. Her leaving hadn’t been a sudden thing, he reflected, swirling the amber liquid around the glass. It had started that first night. That night he’d arrived back from Boston to find her, sitting in their living room, graphic photographs splayed across the glass surface of the coffee table, tears coursing down her cheeks, a look of such profound hurt, anger and rage all rolled into one on her face that it had driven the very breath from him. “What have you done?” She’d asked him. 

Such a simple question. 

The answer was equally as straight forward, but one she ultimately couldn’t accept. Couldn’t then, didn’t now, never would. The truth never had a leg to stand on, like an eyewitness that wasn’t even in the room at the time of the offence, the truth had become irrelevant. In the end, the only thing that had mattered was what she believed. No, he corrected himself, it hadn’t been what she’d believed that had been the determining factor, it had been what she didn’t believe. 

Him. 

She didn’t believe in him anymore. 

He understood her reasons and had accepted the she had acted on what she thought was necessity. It had taken another two months before the inevitable end had come. The bags stacked neatly beside the door, the last hints of her perfume as she’d kissed his cheek goodbye, then turned and closed the door. He could still see the entire scene if he closed his eyes. Even now, it was burned in exquisite detail on his mind’s eye. Every move, every look, every sound. He had loved her. That had never been in doubt. The doubt had centred around trust and without trust, there was no point in continuing. No point in trying to prove who was right or wrong. No point in fighting for something that had been lost a long time before either of them realised it. Broken beyond repair. The end of what had been. No way back, the way forward littered with memories and pain of what would never be. Like a wave a high tide, washing higher and stronger with each passing minute, the feelings of loss and emptiness had grown to almost overwhelmed him, threatening every morning and throughout every long night alone to drag him in the dark endless ocean of nothingness. It was a feeling of utter despair that was so deep, Johnathon was terrified. Terrified he’d never be able to swim hard enough to breach the surface to breathe. 

The fear of it all had made him run. Run to a place Katherine had never been, to a time before he had known her, to somewhere that had sheltered him once before when his world had fallen around him. A sanctuary. A private place, hidden from the world, to recover strength, gather courage, take that one breath that would lead to another. He finished his drink and set the heavy based tumbler on the table. That was how you survived. That was how you endured.

“As god is my witness,” A young blond haired woman, an apron around her sizeable midrift smiled broadly and walked towards him, a plate in one hand, filled to over flowing with a burger flanked by an inordinately large amount of fries that smelled good and made his mouth water, reminding him that he was hungrier than he thought, “If it isn’t Johnathon Chase. Local hero. Cape not needed” She deposited the bounty on the table, grinning insufferable and opened her arms. Johnathon stood, accept the enveloping embrace of the woman, “Hello Susannah.” He kissed her cheek which was slightly flushed pink with exertion, “Think you better sit down.” Johnathon yanked out a chair for her and helped her settle into it, the large swell of her very pregnant belly making the process longer than it normally have been.

“Thought the hero could do with some food before he sucked down any more of my whiskey,” She lifted hand and caught the barman’s eye, “Why is it the first I hear of you in town is news that you’ve rescued some Hollywood superstar from the wicked depths of Larson’s Lake? From those pack of vultures, I mean welcome patrons?” She lifted an eyebrow and nodded towards a small pack of photographers and press reporters sitting at the bar, “They are at least good for business.” She commented, with a small groan, one hand absently rubbing her rounded stomach. 

Johnathon glanced over at them. He hated the press with a rare passion, but, it was better they be here drinking than poking around Caitriona and her family. It was one extra pressure Johnathon reasoned the tall woman could do without and he privately wondered how long it would be before word filtered around the press group that a first hand source of information about the whole ordeal was sitting less than twenty feet away. “Don’t worry hero,” Susannah leaned over, as if having heard his thoughts, “Davey over there,” She indicated the barman, “has already been telling all about this Johnathon Chase person.”  
“Oh really and what exactly is Davey telling them?”  
“Johnathon Chase is a mad trapper like guy, roughly 60, though no one knows for sure, that is ugly as a patch of prickles in at picnic, with a glass eye and three missing front teeth.” They were interrupted as a waitress, placed a fresh glass of scotch in front of Johnathon and a tall glass of water in front of the host. “Oh and he only comes to town once a month to buy liquor.” She took a long drink, barely able to contain her glee at spinning such a tale, “Incidentally you’ve already left town by the way, back to the mountains and your hunting traps.  
Johnathon laughed, “Only in this place would that even be remotely believable.”  
“I know right?” Susannah smiled conspiratorially, “Oh and Mike, who is Davey’s brother, works at the motel, so, I wish them luck finding out that you are staying there. But I’m betting you’ve already taken care of that?”  
Johnathon nodded, “I have.”  
“And who are we today?”  
“Alexander Mason.”  
“Fancy.” Susannah chuckled, though she knew the name well. It was his middle name and the maiden name of his grandmother, “Now, to more serious matters, what are you doing here? You’ve been away so long I’ve almost forgotten what you look like. Where’s Kate?” She cast an eye around the room, searching, not giving him time to answer.  
“She is in New York.” Johnathon stated, immediately brushing the question aside, “Moved there just over a month back.” The emotional neutrality didn’t go unnoticed and Susannah cocked her head to one side, eyeing him as she took a good drink of the cool liquid. She’d met Katherine Carmichael last year, when her and her husband, Charlie, had been passing through town. They’d all had a wonderful lunch together and Susannah had liked the tall dark haired doctor, having left with the impression Johnathon’s relationship with the woman had been extremely serious. In fact, she’d been expecting news of an engagement. To hear that they had split was unexpected to say the least and her curiosity was screaming at her to find out what had happened.  
“You’re not moving there with her?” Assumptions aside, Susannah thought it at least prudent to find out if in fact they had split.  
Johnathon sipped his drink, “No.” He leaned forward and picked up his cutlery. His appetite had left him but he figured with a mouthful of food, it would be harder to answer any questions. He knew, he better get used to that, at least for the next little bit. Anyone that had known them as a couple would be asking the exact same questions. He would have to face it sooner or later.  
“Oh.” So split it was then, “You’re not going after her?”  
“No.” Johnathon finished a mouthful, his eyes flicking around the bar, refusing to meet hers, afraid she would see, see the disappointment festering there, “She decided that New York was the best place for her.”  
“I see.” She paused, wondering who or what the third party was. In her experience, there was always a third party in situations like this. Sometimes it was a person, sometimes it was blind ambition, sometimes it was a memory from long ago, usually it was alcohol and one, two or a series of bad judgement calls. She suspected that wasn’t the case here. Johnathon wasn’t a big drinker and his ingrained sense of honour and loyalty usually meant that bad judgements couldn’t get traction with any situation he was involved in. “And what’s in New York then?” She asked.  
Johnathon gave a soft snort of derision, “Not me for one and Stephen Cross for the other.”  
Well, that answered that, third party mystery solved. Another man. “Are you sure about this Johnathon?” She already knew he was from the look on his face. He had walked away and not looked back.  
“Somethings just can’t be repaired.”  
“Everything can be fixed. A certain hero type man told me that once.” She still remembered that night, in her darkest time, when it had all seemed too hard and she’d cursed god, Charlie, the factory, anyone that she could think off. She’d been buried so far under the strain of a new marriage and recovering husband from a life altering accident, six months pregnant, that it had just seemed to hard. Everything had just seemed too hard. Johnathon had sat with her, all night, offered a strong shoulder, let her blame the world, listened to her spill every problem she faced, every fear that crossed her mind, every single doubt she had about the future. When she’d finished explaining, Susannah had expected agreeance, an absolution that it was alright to walk away, to give up on someone she loved, on a life that she thought was broken. But it hadn’t come. Instead, he’d told her that everything can be fixed if she wanted it badly enough.  
Johnathon looked at her honestly, “You can only fix something when everyone pulls in the same direction.”  
“If you need the extra muscle, I’m your girl.”  
He dredged up a half smile, “It’s not your muscle I need.” The smiled faded, “I can’t fix this. It was her choice Susannah. I may not agree with it,” Johnathon crossed his arms over his chest, a physical representation of a clam closing to protect itself, “But I’ll respect it all the same.” No matter how much it hurts, his mind added silently. He’d tried explaining his innocence. Tried to tell her that he hadn’t done what she’d accused him of. Tried to tell her the truth. In the end, she hadn’t been able to hear him over the sheer volume of what she was sure was proof, hitting her for every direction.  
The final straw had dropped on their backs after the latest phone call from a nameless woman claiming she knew Johnathon. Katherine had told him that she thought him a liar. 

Just like that, it was done. In the immediate aftermath, he thought about proving to her that he had never lied about anything in his life, that he hadn’t cheated, that his integrity was the same as the day she’d met him. He was a detective, a good one, with enough resources to work at finding all the proof he needed. It was then he realised that no amount would ever have been enough. He loved her, more than anyone he’d ever loved before. He had wanted to spend his life with her. But trust had been broken. Her’s in him and his in her’s. 

He could have begged, fought for her to believe him. Tried to make her stay when she couldn’t, tried to make her believe when she couldn’t. The problem was that Johnathon Chase could no more force something on someone he cared about than tear out is own heart. It was the way he was made. Trust was shattered between them and without trust, love cannot survive. 

It hadn’t died quickly, but had withered and by the end, Johnathon wasn’t even sure Katherine felt anything for him. That didn’t mean her leaving didn’t still tear at him or that it hadn’t rend his heart into hundred pieces that he wasn’t sure would ever go back together. 

Innocent or not, broken was broken and it hurt like blue blazers. 

Susannah saw the emotion behind his blue eyes and reached out a hand to him. She’d known him a long time, having been at college with him ten years earlier. He was at her wedding, he’d been there when her world had fallen from beneath her when Charlie had been hurt in an accident at the factory. Given her a place, a home, rescued a husband from something she’d been unable to help with, effectively saving her marriage, been their friend though it all and had never once, asked a single thing in return. For god’s sake, this bar, her family’s livelihood was partially his, though the world would never have known it. He’d bought it for them, her and Charlie, when things at been at their worst. Bought the place, floated it financially until she’d been able to run it. He’d come up here, every other day for months, being the muscle and the legs for a husband that had been crippled, physically helping to build their home with them. All the while Johnathon had worked, studied and lead his own life. When it had all been finished, Johnathon had quietly signed over the bar to her. It had been all Susannah could do to talk him into being a silent partner at least. He had done all that for no other reason than friendship. There was nothing Susannah could do now to ease what Johnathon was feeling. Nothing at all. Except be here, the way he had been for them. She leaned forward and took his hand, “For the best then?”  
He didn’t answer, just nodded and took another drink, swallowing slowly, inspecting the scalloped edges of the glass. Susannah squeezed his hand sympathetically, “It will get better. Just give it some time.” She waited until the blue eyes lifted to hers and blinked, until he could get the hurt pushed back down into its dark corner, “Now, if you’ve quite finished rescuing Hollywood types in the middle of winter, we have a not so comfortable pull out couch that you’re more than welcome to inhabit for as long as you need. Charlie and Georgina would love see you.”  
“As appealing as that sounds, I have an early flight tomorrow.”  
Susannah’s brows knit, “A flight? Hate to tell you but the strip has been closed for a week and will likely be so for another week at least.”  
“Helicopter flight.” Johnathon clarified, “Tom’s doing the flying.”  
“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Susannah crossed herself. Tom was the resident helicopter pilot and while perfectly safe, tended to not give his passengers the calmest of flights. “You will be calling in here for breakfast, do you hear me? You can see Charlie and Georgina. I’ll cook you up something special or at least something that will look colourful when you spew it back up.”  
“When you put it like that, how could I turn down such an invitation.” Johnathon smiled softly, if for not other reason than he appreciated the fact that Susannah was trying to lighten the mood and make him forget what was just below the surface all the time. 

If only forgetting was that easy.

It will be better. 

If only it was.


	7. Almost

Caitriona looked at Tony, sitting there, begging her for another chance, an invisible cloak of guilt settling over her slender shoulders, its oppressive weight, pressing down the desire to leave, to change, to walk away, crushing the urge until it was nothing more than a passing thought.

She slowly took back her hand, resting it in her lap, “Alright,” Her voice was soft and tired, “We can try Tony. No promises, but we can try, I suppose.”  

“Thank you Babe.” Dark eyes studied her from behind his glasses, “You know we’re good together. You and I.” Tony tentatively smiled at her then leaned over and kissed her cheek, "We're in this together right?" Caitriona nodded, hardly even hearing his words, the sound nothing more than a low drone in her ears. He straightened, standing beside the bed, trying to appraise if the crisis had been averted or was still impending. He'd come to learn with Caitriona that it was always best to have it out with her, right there and then, rather than to let that intelligent mind of hers mull whatever it was over for long periods of time.  Particularly when you wanted her to see things your own way and even more so when your way didn't necessarily equate to the way things actually were. “Now," He decided that alcohol might help his cause, " How about a drink? I’d bring you dinner, but,  we probably won’t find much in this place for you to eat.”  She tried to focus on whatever it was he was saying, the smallest traces of his Scottish accent tinging the very edges, the sound once comforting, now irritating to her ears. Caitriona's eyes drifted closed a moment, wanting him to just stop talking, wanting to shut out the noise, craving the peace and quiet of the last few days. The quiet of the cabin. The quiet of Johnathon.

“Caitriona?” Tony’s voice was insistent and invaded her mental space, “Drink? Pain killer?”

She opened her eyes and shook her head, “No. I think I’m just going to go to bed and rest,” she nodded towards the door, “But you need dinner. I’ll be fine here.”

“I won’t be long.” Tony grabbed his coat, “That is, if I can find anything that is worth eating in this god forsaken place.” He turned his collar down and straightened his clothing, “I swear, it’s like civilization has regressed 50 years. Not sure how you survived it for three days.”  He reached for the door, “You sure you don’t want anything? Bottle of red wine might take the edge off? Help you relax? They don’t have your usual but they might have something drinkable if I search.”

She shook her head, “I’m sure. You go on.”

Tony watched her a moment, hoping he'd read it right. Hoping he'd done enough to make her commit this time. He thought he had, but with Caitriona, he could never really be certain. She wasn't an actress for nothing and she'd spent years practicing, refining the art of presenting a certain picture regardless of what was bubbling away under the surface. “I won’t be long then.” He gave her a half hearted smile then left, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

 Relief.

 Relief was the only real emotion she felt.

Relief that he’d finally left her alone.

She didn’t want to fight with him, really she didn’t. On top of everything else, he was right. She was as much to blame as he was in this whole mess. Giving it a second go seemed like the reasonable thing to do, seemed like the adult thing to do.

Seemed only fair.

Probably easier to do than to change anyway, her mind sounded wearily. So, she sighed, she would.

 Try.  

 She did owe him that at least. She didn’t enjoy hurting people and had no desire to inflict pain if she could possibly avoid it.

 There.

 She’d found at least one reason to stay with him.

He was after all her friend.

 There was another reason.

 He’d been dragged to event after event because of her work.

Another reason.

 Sam Heughan and all that entailed.

 Another reason.

 The list in her mind grew, trying desperately to rationalise her own decision. Change had seemed so easy in the cabin, when it had just been her and her thoughts. Face to face, change seemed a good deal harder.

Her stomach grumbled and she laid a hand on it, smoothing the folds of her shirt. Maybe dinner wasn’t such a bad idea. Caitriona realised she hadn’t really eaten anything since very early this morning. She’d woken to find that her tall cabin mate had busied himself and gotten them breakfast to have before leaving. He’d cooked her two eggs with some type of beans and onions which, on the surface of it, sounded horrendous and looked even worse, but had, surprisingly, tasted absolutely divine. Caitriona gave a small chuckle, loud in the quiet room, recalling the discussion which had ensued. Her, trying to guess the ingredients and him refusing to give up his ‘culinary’ secrets. Later he'd confessed that the whole thing was simply an onion and a can of baked beans cooked in a pan together. Johnathon, she smiled at the thought of him. Introverted and quiet, and yet, companionable and comforting. A soothing presence without being overwhelming. She wondered where he was tonight and what he was doing.  Probably on his way to New York. He had no real reason to stay in town any longer than he had to. He could have continued to drive, through the night, if he wanted to. She knew he he'd said he had work commitments that he needed to get back to. Work but no family, no girlfriend, no partner, no one in particular. 

Caitriona looked at the closed motel door.  Maybe she should have just stayed in the car with him. New York was as good as place as any to begin the commute back to the UK from. The small issue of her foot would have been the only sticking point. Nothing a few good injections of morphine couldn’t handle and the way she was feeling right now, a drug induced haze may well have been more than worth it. Her stomach growled louder this time, far more insistent than the first. Now, she was certain. She should have asked for dinner, but like a lot of things in her life at the moment, it was too late to think of that now. She had her chance and didn’t speak up before Tony had left.

She sighed and decided to get changed into something more comfortable and then settle down in bed with a bottle of water and the TV remote, wouldn’t be the first time in her life that she’d substituted water for food. Carefully and somewhat precariously balancing on the crutches, Caitriona hobbled over to the large, black bag Tony had brought with him. She unzipped it and flipped open the lid. It was filled to overflowing with the rest of her clothes from Seattle. In her haste to leave, she'd thrown a few things in a bag, frantic to just get away. Those were now at the bottom of the lake. This was the remainder. Caitriona scrummaged through the clothing, most of it formal and those that were casual were not really comfortable for sleep.

She pulled out a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt, the best of a bad lot. Caitriona unfolded the jeans, skinny legged. “For fucks sake...” She shoved the offending items back into the case and held up the shirt. At best, it would come to the top of her thighs. It would have to do, she guessed. She closed the bag with a little more force than strictly necessary. It teetered on the edge of the rack and threatened to fall for moment. She couldn't have cared less if it did. What was one more thing to go wrong.  She was more than entirely frustrated with just about everything at this point. Caitriona let out a sigh then set her crutches to lean against the counter. At least getting undressed should be successful. Thankfully the skirt was relatively easy. A button and a zip and slight shimmy of her hips and it lay in a puddle around her feet. She grabbed the small shirt and bent to retrieve a bottle of cold water from the small fridge that served as the room’s mini bar. Tossing the bottle and the remote onto the bed, Caitriona turned and reached for the crutches. A crumpled brown paper bag, tucked under her makeup case catching her eye.

She let out a small breath and tugged it out, a smile already drifting across her features as she uncurled the rolled lip of the packet. Her eyes closed in absolute pleasure as her fingers reached inside, finding the soft material of a blue sweatshirt and grey oversized track pants.  The clothing Johnathon had given her, that she’d worn in the cabin. Caitriona hummed appreciatively and held them up to her face, breathing in the clean scent. In all the upheaval and fuss, she'd forgotten the clothes been taken from her at the hospital, exchanged for first a hospital gown and then a set of her own clothes. She threw the small shirt away, a broad smile on her face as she made for the bed. Shirts, bras and underwear rapidly joining the other useless apparel, tossed with satisfied rejection into the far corners of the bag rack, blissfully replaced by warm, soft comfort of the cabin clothing. Caitriona was just settling herself back on the bed when soft knock at the door sounded, “Caitriona?” The familiar voice of her older sister Deidra drifted through the door.

“Come in.” Caitriona voiced, watching as the door swung open, admitting the tall dark haired form of her sibling.

“Hey sis,” Deidra smiled, closing the door and taking a seat on the edge of the bed, “Nothing like a bit of excitement to spice up a weekend,” She leaned over and kissed her sister’s cheek, “Might want to brush up on those driving skills.”

“Ha Ha,” Caitriona retorted, “You’re one to talk after that episode with the roller door at that apartment complex.”

“Oh no,” She scoffed, waggling a finger back and forth, “That was not my doing, " She settled herself beside Caitriona, "That bloody remote went haywire. How was I to know the door would come down like that!”

“Several times from what I heard.”

“The car stalled, can’t help that.” Deidra chuckled in memory. A small silence fell between them, “So Caitriona..” She bumped her younger sister’s shoulder gently, “What's really been going on then?”

Caitriona twisted a small section of the oversize shirt around a finger, “What do you mean? I slid on a corner, hit a drift and the car ended up in a lake.”

“I know all that,” Deidra waved a hand dismissively, “What I don’t know, is why you weren’t on the plane like everyone else? Spontaneous road tripping is not really the first thing that comes to mind when I think about you.”

Caitriona shrugged, “I just needed a bit a space away from it all.” The fabric twisted tighter.

“I see.” Deidra commented, nodding slowly as if in deep thought, “Space away from it.” She paused, “It being?”

“The public, the production, Sam -”

“Tony?” Deidra supplied artfully.

Caitriona sighed, letting the fabric in her hands go, “Our relationship isn’t the source of ALL my problems. There are other things in life apart from that to complicate matters you know.”

“Oh please Caitriona,” Deidra swiveled around, crossing her legs at her ankles and leaning back against the headboard beside her sister, “You can’t tell me that after all this time you haven’t figured out ways and means of dodging the public and as for production, you love acting, love this job and this role right?” Caitriona nodded her agreeance, “You’re managing being the face of this show and all the carry on that comes with it yes?” Another nod, “So that just leaves, by your own list, Sam and Tony. And if it’s not Tony,” Deidra counted down on her fingers, “that leaves…” She nudged the shoulder closest to her again, “So what’s going on with him ?”

“Sam?”

“No.” She deadpanned sarcastically, “The other hot and handsome co-star that is wants to screw your brains out.”

“Nice.”

“Well it’s true.” Deidra defended, “Anyone with eyes can see that Caitriona. He’s made it so bloody blatantly obvious.”

“And you think I haven’t made if blatantly clear that I don’t want to go there?” Caitriona snapped back with more venom than she realised, “Kissing me isn’t going to change that.”

“Sam kissed you?” Deidra’s brows almost raised to hairline, eye going wide with surprise.

“In Seattle.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Caitriona’s hands dropped to her thighs, “He kissed me. I left.”

“You left?”

“Yes, I left. I told you, I needed some air, some space.”

A knock sounded and they both turned towards the door. It issued inwards and Sarah, Caitriona’s younger sister, closed by age and closest in relationship stepped inside, “Who’s kissing who?” she queried, smiling at the mere prospect of romantic gossip, “How are you feeling by the way?” Sarah leaned over, kissed her sister’s cheek then sat down.

“Sam kissed Caitriona.” Deidra looked around Caitriona at Sarah, who had taken up her position on the opposite side of the bed, quickly and efficiently providing her sibling with all the necessary details,“In Seattle.” 

“Sam kissed you?” Sarah settled back, thoroughly intrigued, “Please tell me you kissed him back?”

“No.” Caitriona let out a breathe of frustration, “I did not kiss him back.” 

“Why not?” Both sisters asked at the same time.

Caitriona shook her head, dark brows knitting, “Apart from the fact that I am with Tony, something you two,” She waved a finger between the pair in question, “Seem to have conveniently forgotten.” Both sisters rolled their eyes in almost perfect unison as she continued, “I have a rule about not dating people at work. I had it when I was modelling and I’m sticking to now, because I’ve seen first hand the damage that can be done when a romantic relationship at work goes to hell. I can’t afford for that to happen to me, not now.  I need to have a solid working relationship with Sam to be able to do what this role needs.”

“Oh right, the rule..” Deidra nodded, “Rules are mean to be broken you know and Tony doesn’t count."

“Exactly, ignoring the Tony factor for the moment,” Sarah added, “Sam is good looking and seems like a great guy Caitriona, plus who's to say a relationship there would go to hell? Sometimes things do work out you know. If there was ever a time for breaking rules.”

“How can Tony not count? We are together. You two are actively encouraging me to cheat on him?” She shot them an outrageous look, “Really? Come on, both of you.”

“Okay, let me get this.” Sarah, nodded to Deidra, deciding she would be the one to grab this particular bull by the horns “First of all, dear sister, you may be with Tony, but you are not together. You have never been together and if you are going to sit there and argue that with me then we need to take you back to the hospital and have your head checked.”  She held up a hand, forestalling Caitriona’s protest, “Together, implies a relationship. A close, loving, intimate relationship. Generally one requiring the other to actually show some form of physical closeness at some point, or in your case, any point.” Sarah was on a roll and decided to keep going, buoyed by the knowing nods of agreement from her partner in crime sitting on the opposite side of Caitriona, “I can’t even remember the last time I saw you two kiss, hell, even hug with real feeling. At this point I’d even settle for a look between the two of you that suggested you might want actually be around each other for more than ten minutes. That is not a 'together' Caitriona." She emphasised together with her own brand of air quotes and a raised eyebrow, "I’m not sure what on earth it is to be honest. You can call it 'together' if you want to, but that is not actually being together and you know it. Hence, Tony factor is zero. If anything, we should mark him down in the other column, under reasons why you SHOULD go there with Sam.”

“Are you finished?”

“Not quite.” Sarah drew breathe, “Discounting the fact the man is about as interesting as watching paint dry. Honestly Caitriona, the last time we all went out to dinner, I kept wanting to poke my fork into his hand to make sure he was still alive. I would be able to accept this thing that you are claiming as together in some aspect if the vibes between you and Tony weren’t colder than a brass seat on the shady side of an iceberg. In fact, this thing, whatever it is, has now got you driving around the mountains to Bumfuck USA in the middle of winter rather than get on a plane with any of them.” Sarah held up a hand, “Yes, yes, you can spare me the malarkey about you needing time away, and the guff about you decides to go for a 'drive'. I’m calling bullshit right there.” Sarah turned and gripped her younger sister’s hand, ducking her head and forcing Caitriona to look at her, about to drive home the closing points of her argument, “We’re not encouraging you to cheat on anyone Caitriona, because we don’t think there is anyone to cheat on. Tell me we’re wrong if we are Caitriona. You tell us right now that you love Tony, that you’re in love with him, that you want him, that he makes you happy and there is no one else you’d rather be with and you won’t hear another bad word, utterance or comment about it from any of us.”

Caitriona’s eyes searched her sister’s, flicking back and forth, knowing she should defend him, defend them, but at the same time, feeling powerless against the truth, hanging right there in the air. “Tony is,” She hesitated, knowing the truth was written on her face, “Tony is here.” It was non-committal and sounded empty, but it was what it was and all she had to give at the moment, “He’s here and Sam isn’t.”

“Caitriona. That isn’t a - ”

“No Sarah,” Caitriona eyed them, pinning each of them with a stubborn glare, “You need to hear me on this and then both of you agree to leave this alone?”

Silence, followed by reluctant nods of assent from both sisters. What had started out as jovial conversation had turned into something far more serious. Caitriona really didn’t want to talk about any of this, but, Sarah was like a dog with a bone and she wasn’t about to let this go. Now was as good as time as ever to hit this head on, once and for all. If she was ever going to make it work, this had to be done.

“First,” Caitriona cleared her throat, “You’re right about somethings. Sam is great guy. He is and we’ve become close friends but Sam is just a friend and that is all he will ever be. Not because he doesn’t want to be something more but because I don’t want to be. I can’t date him and I’m not going to.”  She stopped them from interrupting with sharp look, “And not just because of my rules either. When I first started Outlander, I thought for a small time that maybe, there was a possibility. But there just isn’t. It's, we, ” This time she did hesitate, thinking how to explain this in a way they would understand.

Sarah tightened her grip on her sister’s forearm, “You don’t feel it?”

Caitriona sighed and shook her head, “Sometimes I think there might be something, but then other times, not at all. When he kissed me, I felt nothing more than I do on set. Work. Just work. I wish sometimes I did feel something more, for his sake as well as my own, because he is geniunely a nice man, but,” She took a deep breath and straightened, “But it’s not there, and I can’t make appear there so, he’s my friend and co-star. I’m not,” Caitriona stopped and swallowed, “I’m not going to screw up this job for any reason. So, friend, co-star and nothing more. I am going keep do what production tells me and keep my head down and work. Make this work. All of it.”

“So why the drive Cait? Sounds to me like the Sam kiss wasn’t what sent you driving into the night? Or at least it wasn’t the only thing?” Deidra tilted her head and watched her sister carefully, genuinely surprised at the candor of her sister’s honest admission. They all be worried when Caitriona had gone missing. Worried because it wasn’t in her character to up and take off. She was more likely to stay and thrash whatever was bothering her out. They had feared that this this time, something was really wrong with their sister. 

“It wasn’t, at least not entirely.” Caitriona reluctantly acknowledged, “Tony and I, we, there are some things that we are working out.”

“Working out?” Sarah’s queried “What do you mean working out Caitriona?” If that weasel of a man had hurt her sister in any way shape or form she would take great pleasure in tearing him apart. She’d seen how devastated Caitriona had been after LA. The entire family had witnessed firsthand just how deeply Caitriona had been emotionally hurt with that entire fiasco. While it wasn’t the first time in history that someone in a committed long-term relationship had been unfaithful resulting in pregnancy and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last, that didn’t negate the level of pain Caitriona had dealt with. It had been severe and, Sarah suspected, it aftereffects were still playing a part in how Caitriona approached those aspects of her life now. Maybe that was why Caitriona was willing to stay with Tony? Because he was safer than most other men. At least on the surface.  Safe because, let's face it, her mind stated, no one in their right mind would be lining up to steal him from Caitriona, making the chances of LA happening again with Tony were zero to none. It certainly went a long way towards explaining Caitriona even being with Tony in the first place and a lot towards explaining her reluctance to try somewhere else. Landing a role in Outlander had been more than a blessing in disguise. It had given their sister a reason to get the fuck out of LA and return closer to her family here and more importantly away from that devastating situation. Safe or not, if Tony thought for one second she would stand by and let her sister go through that again then he was sorely mistaken.

“We are working on some things. Things that are really none of your business Sarah, or yours Deidra and anyone else's in the family either. I needed some time to think, so I drove a car. Nothing earth shattering, I just need a moment to, “She stopped, tried not to smile at the memory of the deep voice sounding in her head, “I just needed a moment to breathe.”

“The Sam thing, okay I maybe agree. If it’s not there, it’s not there. I get that, boy do I ever. You don’t end up divorced before you are thirty not understanding that,” Sarah eyed her sister seriously, “but really Caitriona, this thing that you’re doing with Tony, whatever it is, whatever you’re working out with him, is it really the relationship that you want?”

“You deserve to be happy Cait,” Deidra added her two cents worth, “At the end of the day, you’re right, it’s not our business who you hook up with, “ Deidra shot a warning look at Sarah, who was already gearing up to refute that opinion, “Providing and this is a big providing Caitriona, that you are safe, healthy and happy.”

Was she happy?

Not really.

But she wasn’t unhappy enough to leave.

Settle for two out of three? It would have to do. She’d given her word, she’d try. She owed him that.

“You can all stop worrying.” Caitriona glanced from sister to sister, “Really. I’m fine. We’re going to be fine. Everything is fine.”

She wondered if she kept saying it, if it would make it true.

Her reason's were after all, rational and perfectly logical.

She almost believed it them.

 Almost.


	8. Endure

It was almost dawn, crisp, cold and thankfully clear. Johnathon hoisted a bag into the back of the truck and opened the door. He was surprised at the amount of activity surrounding the motel particularly given the early hour. He looked down the row of rooms as he climbed into the cab. Almost of all of them were alight with the soft glow of lights, the odd person opening a door here and there, cars being loading with belongings, occupants making preparations to leave. Not at all a bad idea. With predicted storms due to roll in sometime during the day, it would be important to get to the main highway before too much snow fall caused an impasse. While Johnathon himself, didn’t have that concern, he was keen to get out just like everyone else before the onset of the weather.

Storms like this, often tended to roll in with the day. With any luck, the early flight would get away on time and he’d manage catch the calm window that existed somewhere between dawn and midmorning, hopefully dodging any storm related turbulence. He’d already had a very early breakfast with Susannah and her family, as promised the night before. It had been good to catch up with Charlie and their young daughter, Georgina, who taken a bit of a shine to Johnathon and entertained them all with incessant questioning and talking during their meal. He’d said goodbye, even accepted a sloppy kiss on the cheek from little girl and headed back to the motel to pack. Blonde brows contracted, wrinkling in thought.

Wallet.

Johnathon patted his back pocket. “Shit.” He cursed quietly and returned to the room. Sure enough, his wallet and phone were still sitting on the bench where he put it as he’d picked up his bag. He gathered them both up, sliding one in each back pocket, then glanced around the room, doing a final check before he left for good this time. Satisfied he had everything, Johnathon stepped outside almost colliding with another person. “Sorry about that.” He apologised and stepped courteously back allowing the man to continue.

The man, however, didn’t continue on his way but hesitated and turned, looking Johnathon up and down from behind a pair of glasses. He was shorter than Johnathon, the unruly mop of dark hair atop a slight build, occasionally drifted in front of his face with the light morning breeze. Dark eyes narrowed, “You’re him?” He asked with a slightly acerbic tone, tinged around the edge with what Johnathon thought was a Scottish accent. “You’re the one that was with Caitriona.” It was a statement more than a question.

Johnathon kept his face passive. He had no idea who this guy was, more than likely press and he certainly had no intention of telling him the time, let alone anything relating to Caitriona. “Think you’ve got me confused with someone else mate.” Johnathon stepped around him and put a hand on the open car door.  
“I don’t think I have,” He stepped forward, “You saved Caitriona and brought her in town yesterday.” The man stuck out a hand, “Tony. Tony McGill.”  
Johnathon shook his hand, the grip weaker than he expected. Dark eyes watched him intently, clearly expecting Johnathon to say something in return, but the blond man remained strategically quiet, not willing to provide a name to someone he’d yet to fully ascertain who the bloody hell they actually were.  
“I wanted to thank you.” Tony took another step closer, “Thank you for bringing Caitriona back here to her family, back to us all,” He paused, eyeing Johnathon directly, “back to me.”  
The statement hung in the air between the two of them. Johnathon searching his memory for any off-hand mention Caitriona might have made of this joker’s name. She had mentioned a Tony, but had never supplied a last name. Was this the one? Johnathon silently assessed the man, the one that had made Caitriona take off, made her run.

Surely not.

He was thin, with a slightly weedy frame, the dark colour of his designer shirt, making his pasty white complexion appear even more unhealthy. Clearly, if he was who he said he was, he must possess several hidden qualities that Caitriona found appealing.  
“I’m sure Caitriona is happy to be back with her family.” Johnathon said calmly. Still, there was something in the eyes that were still scrutinizing him that immediately set Johnathon’s teeth on edge, raising warning signals like a dog raises its hackles.  
“Yes. She is.” Tony stated crisply, “Three days can be a long time to be alone. With a man. In an isolated cabin.”  
The hackles were now standing on end and if this little twerp, whoever he was or claimed to be, expected Johnathon to hang around and continue this conversation, he was sorely mistaken. Johnathon put a foot on the running board, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get going.”  
“I understand that,” Tony’s voice was slightly tinny and grated on Johnathon’s hearing, “But you seem like the strong straight forward type,” He flashed a smirk at Johnathon which made the tall man’s skin crawl, “So I’m just going to ask you, man to man, what I want to know.” A slender white hand planted itself on the frame of the door, “Did you sleep with her?”  
In truth, Tony didn’t really care if she had or she hadn’t. If he was going to make sure that things didn’t fall apart with Caitriona, he needed to know what exactly he was dealing with. If she had slept this man, who, Tony admitted to himself, was certainly was extremely attractive in that rugged all male type of way, then he needed to know.

All information is useful and this was no exception.

The large booted foot came down from the running board with a distinct thud and Johnathon turned, squaring his shoulders and straightening to his full height, “Listen mate,” His voice dropped to almost a growl, “I’m not sure who you think are, but I strongly suggest you show some manners. If you know who you claim to know, you wouldn’t need to ask such a ridiculous question.” He leaned towards Tony, resisting the urge to grab this guy by the collar and force him to show Caitriona some respect, “If you want to know anything else about Caitriona then I suggest you ask her yourself.” Ice blue eyes glinted in the early morning light, “If you are her boyfriend or partner or whatever you want to classify yourself as, then I would think you would be by her side making sure she was alright,” Johnathon flicked his eyes at the offending hand that had been unwelcomely placed on the truck door. It dropped instantly, Tony taking a small defensive step back.  
Johnathon’s strong voice was fairly dripping with absolute finality, “Now like I said, you’ve got me confused with someone else.” Wisely choosing to retreat over bravado, Tony turned on his heel, but not without shooting Johnathon a highbrow sneer over one shoulder.

Johnathon watched him for a few steps then slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door with an exaggerated slam. What sort of bloke would even ask that? No wonder Caitriona had run. Johnathon decided he'd probably have run too if he had to put up with the likes of Tony all the time. It was now completely official. Whoever that man turned out to be, whatever he was to Caitriona, Johnathon decided he didn’t like him. Not one bit. If he was someone or something to Caitriona then this fool should drop to his knees and worship that woman, because, Jesus Christ, he was well and truly punching above his weight. Intellectually and physically and everything that came between.  
It made Johnathon wonder, as he turned the key and sparked the engine to life, what it was the drew people together in the first place. What invisible thing that made one human want to be with another. Not just the physical part of that equation, though, at times, even that could be strange. What one person found breathtakingly attractive, another could just as easily find repulsive.

Relationships, he shook his head, second most complex thing in the universe.

The first being women.

He carefully reversed out of the park, turning back onto the main road and heading for the airstrip. Maybe being alone wasn’t such a bad thing. Christ, he was starting to believe that sometimes, certain people were just fated to be together or doomed to destroy each other and be alone. Children, a family, a wife, that all seemed a distinct impossibility right now, at least for him. For plenty of other people out there, Johnathon was sure it was all working out the way to was supposed to. Love, couples, happy families growing generation after generation.

But not for him. Not just lately either.

After all, his mother had died before he’d even lived a year. His father and grandmother just two years later. By the time Johnathon was three, there was precisely one person still living from either side of his genetic helix. His uncle, the younger brother of his father, the sole survivor apart, of course, from himself. Strong hands gripped the wheel hard enough to make the knuckles turn white.

His uncle.

It had taken him 10 years, but Johnathon had finally overcome that man. It hadn’t been easy and cost had been high, but he’d managed it. Justice, if you could call it that, had finally fallen in Johnathon’s favour, when at the age of 13, his uncle’s death had left Johnathon as a family of just one. No brothers, no sisters, no cousins or long lost relatives.

Just him.

Alone.

It hadn’t bothered him much early on, Johnathon had been too busy making his way in the world, but now, the older he got, the more he thought about what might never be. Was he one of those fated to be alone?  
Least if you’re alone no one can hurt you.  
He pulled into the driveway of the large storage shed, climbed out and unlocked the large roller door. It was just a five minute walk to the aircraft hangar from here and Johnathon always left the truck there, locked up and secure in readiness next time he was in town. He parked the truck and secured the door, dropping the key into his pocket as he flicked the collar of his coat up, his warm breath clouding in the chill air, his boots crunching the crisp snow as he walked towards the hangar. The sun was just starting to poke its way over the far off horizon, its halo various shades of red, oranges and blues, the last vestiges of night tenuously clinging to the edges. Johnathon took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs, trying to push dark thoughts back to their shadows.

Alone or not, family or not, the sun was going to rise and set just the same.

Endure, he reminded himself.

Endure.

Survive.

There was simply no other choice.


	9. Friends

“Careful Eddie.” Caitriona warned, the smile on her face belying any animosity towards her beloved excited feline companion. The last thing she wanted to do was fall over. It was difficult enough trying to manage a bag and a set of crutches without the added difficulty of the cat trying to thread its large body around her legs in a heart-felt, though treacherous, greeting. She made it as far as the couch, tossing her bags on the floor and practically falling into the soft cushions. “Come here you.” A warm furry bundle pounced into her lap, happily accepting up every ounce of welcome affection her owner was willing to hand over. “I missed you.” Caitriona nuzzled the furry neck, the gentle purr of the feline motor filling the quiet in the still room. 

She let her head drop to rest against the back of the couch, eyes staring up at the white ceiling. The peace and quiet of home. Caitriona idly stroked the silky fur of her lap mate, cradling the animal gently while her thoughts settled. The trip home had been extremely long. Long and almost as bad as she’d imagined, and she’d imagined quite a bit.

It had started with the relatively short road trip of eight hours back to a larger city centre that had an regional airport, one that was thankfully still open in spite of the weather. Then a flight across to New York which had landed well after midnight, followed by a short stay at Deidra’s apartment until they’d caught a red eye flight back to London where, Tony and the rest of her family had left her. 

Tony was staying in London for business, her parents and sister, continuing to Ireland. Caitriona had flown on to Glasgow. The entire journey, apart from the short flight into Glasgow, had been tense, trending towards awkward, not to mention, utterly exhausting. Tony had been attentive, so much so it had almost verged on annoying. Her parents concern had been ongoing and overwhelming, while it had been heartfelt,it had also quickly become suffocating during the long flight, leaving Caitriona wanting nothing more to be left alone. A feat not easy accomplished in the small close quarters of a commercial aircraft. Thankfully, no one had recognised her or if they did, they had been respectful of her privacy and stayed well back. The last thing she needed was to have the internet in melt down over this whole thing. She knew there had to be some press out there, but so far, the whole thing seemed to have been kept pretty low key. 

Caitriona gently scratched behind Eddie’s ears, it was definitely good to be home. She reached down and unclipped the heavy boot from around her foot, feeling immediate relief as cool air bathed her lower leg. Gingerly, she lifted her foot to rest on the coffee table, a soft sigh of appreciation escaping her lips. It, like her, hadn’t done well with copious amounts of travel either. She was seriously thinking about taking one of the pain killers she’d been prescribed, even if they did have a tendency to make her feel drowsy, when a knock sound on her front door.  
“Balfe? Are ye in there?”  
Caitriona let out deep sigh, eyes searching the ceiling. And the hits just keep on coming, her mind griped. This was one conversation she’d hoped to avoid until a later date. Apparently, that was asking too much from the cosmic gods at the moment. She glanced towards the door. Could she ignore him? Another knock sounded. “Balfe?”  
“Come in Sam.” She called from her seat. If she had to deal with this now, she was refusing to move to do so.  
The door opened and Sam’s bulky form filled the space, hair misted with fine droplets of rain, his dark leather jacket shiny with moisture, “I was just passing by the area and thought I’d call in and see how ye were fairing.” Blue eyes flicked to hers as he hefted a plastic bag up on the kitchen counter, “Brought some dinner if you’ve a mind?”  
“Thank you, but not right now.” She didn’t have the mind to at all, in fact she was feeling a little nauseous, wanting nothing more for this to be over, for things to go back to the way they were. At least she hoped they would. There was still the danger that she’d managed to lose a good friend over a single moment of stupidity. She looked at Sam, standing there, hands bunched in his pockets nervously, “You have some if you’re hungry though Heughan.” She appreciated the peace offering for what it was and Caitriona was determined to try and at least protect their working friendship if nothing else.  
“Naw, I’ll be fine.” He walked over to the couch, looking down at her, “Christ Cait! Your foot.” He bent over inspecting her elevated ankle.  
“I know right,” She carefully moved the body part in question, “Got a good bruise starting to come through.”  
“Damned lucky it wasn’t broken.” There was a hint of chastisement in his voice as he hesitated then sat down, swivelling to turn to face her, “Listen Cait, about Seattle,” He stopped, swallowed then reached out and took her hand, Eddie scampering away with the sudden disturbance.  
Caitriona very much wishing she could do the same. Anything to escape what she knew was coming. 

“It’s okay Sam, you don’t have to ex-” Caitriona shook her head, hoping to god Sam wasn’t going to say something that would make a tough situation even worse.  
“No Cait, let me get this out please.” Sam interrupted her, “I know you’re scared of this, I know you are, hell I am too, I mean, no one expected this show to work out like it has,” He stood waving his arms around, “for all this,” the hands dropped, slapping dully against his thighs, “the press, the fan stuff, conventions, photoshoots, this whole thing. For everything to change so quick, you ken,” Sam began slowly pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his, “I know you’re worried that things between us will be different if we were together and work might be tough because of that, but Cait,” He sat, resting his arm along the back of the couch, “ We don’t have to stop being friends to be something more.”  
“Sam,” Caitriona held up a hand, that sinking feeling in her stomach was quickly becoming a reality with every passing word falling from his mouth.

God. Any chance of getting out of this unscathed tonight had disappeared entirely.

If she was feeling nauseous before, now she felt downright ill. “Tony and I, we, um,” Caitriona cleared her throat, mentally squaring her shoulders as she looked at him, “We’re trying to work things out.” 

The utter look of confusion on his face made her feel a thousand times worse. Sam was considerably harder to convince than her sisters. Sam had been there from the beginning, had walked with her on the red carpet, spent hours upon hours with her on sets, in rooms, in isolated location shoots. They’d talked. Of course they had, about the family and people in their lives, about the trials and tribulations that made up everyday life. They’d confided in each other, about a lot of things that otherwise might never had seen the light of day during the long hours of filming, when tiredness and exhaustion let loose inhibitions and honest thoughts that bubbled to the surface, spilling from otherwise closed mouths.  
“You’re staying with him?” Blue eyes darted back forth, searching hers disbelievingly, “After what he did? You’re staying with him?”  
“He made a mistake Sam.”  
“A pretty fucking big one Caitriona!” He shook his head, trying for the life of him to understand what in hell she was thinking. “If you’re going back to him because of us, because of what happened in Seattle with me then,” He gripped her forearm, “Don’t Caitriona. We can figure this out, you and I. We can -”  
“It has nothing to do with that Sam.” Caitriona paused, frantically trying to think how she could say this without hurting him any further, “I was upset. I had way too much to drink and what happened with you, shouldn’t have happened. I’m not blaming you Sam, it wasn’t you. It was me and I’m sorry.” 

It was cliched, the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ excuse, but in this case, it had more than a modicum of truth to it. There been drinking, involving a lot more liquor than sense. Liquor mixed with the undeniable chemistry that had always sparked between them, all conspiring to lead them both down a path that could only ever end in bad judgement and regret. Chemistry or not, she couldn’t control what she felt for Sam. 

And it wasn’t love. 

Not the love he wanted it to be.

At least Caitriona thought it wasn’t. She didn’t want to compound the situation by pretending to think it was. Not right now. She couldn’t do that to Sam, wouldn’t do it to him.  
“Caitriona please, don’t be sorry. I’m not.” Sam inched closer to her, “It wasn’t the booze talking when I said I loved you.” He waited, waited for her eyes to meet his, “And it wasn’t the booze talking when I kissed you.” He leaned in about to recreate the experience.  
“Sam.” Her voice was firm, as firm as the hand she pressed against his chest, “Sam, you’re my friend and I love you, I do, but not” She tried to soften the blow but then realised that really wasn’t possible. It was going to hurt no matter what she said, might as well be out with it. “I don’t feel anything more than that. I’m sorry.”  
Blue eyes blinked slowly at her, “You might if you just-”  
“I won’t.”  
“You don’t know that Caitriona.” Sam leaned back from her, his face going grim, “You can’t see the future and you don’t know what would happen if we just tried this.”  
“You’re right, I don’t know what the future is going to be, but I do know me. And this, what you are wanting. It won’t ever be Sam,” She said very quietly, “It’s just not there. No amount of trying will change that.”  
“That’s rich Caitriona,” His voice uncharacteristically sharp, “You won’t try with me, but you’ll try with that cheating asshole? Let me tell you something for free, no amount of trying will ever fix that either!” Sam stood up, hands on hips, turning his back to her as he slowly stalked around the living room. 

He was upset. 

Upset with her, upset with himself. 

He should have waited, waited another day, but he had been wanting to see her for days now. He worried this would be the case, wanting desperately for it not be this way. 

Damn it!

He should have waited until she was rested more, over her accident and the travel and the whole fucking thing.

“I’m sorry Sam.” Caitriona apologised again. He didn’t want her apology, he wanted her. He’d thought he had at least had a chance after that spineless creature she called her boyfriend had screwed up so royally and she arrived at his hotel room, looking the way Cait always looked. So beautiful he struggled to breathe around her sometimes. Sam had wanted her then more than ever. He’d decided to lay it all on the line, put it out there. He’d told her how he felt, kissed and damn it, she had kissed him back. She had! He was certain of it. For those few glorious seconds before something had happened, he didn’t know what and she’d pulled away, she’d been there with him. 

What the fuck was he to do now? Push for this? Try and talk her round? 

Something, he had to do something.

“Caitriona,” He turned, eyes boring directly into her, “Can you honestly and tell me that you didn’t, that you don’t feel something more.” 

Caitriona looked at him. He felt the floor fall from beneath him as read her expressive face, hope sinking to the pit of his stomach. 

She didn’t have to say it. 

It was right there in her eyes. 

“So that’s it then?” He said incredulously, his hands falling to his sides, “You go back to him and we go back to being what?”  
“We’re not going back to anything Sam.” Caitriona said gently, “We ARE friends. We have never been anything other than friends and we WILL always be friends. That hasn’t changed I hope?”  
Sam turned, stalking over to the large windows, unable to look her in the face any longer. He needed a moment to think, to regroup. To prepare. 

Friends. 

Could he go back to hiding this? Hiding how he really felt, keeping it caged up, like an animal in a zoo. Pretending to be happy with this situation. It was one thing to present a certain picture to the public, but he’d thought they could do this privately, production and PR could get fucked as far as he was concerned. 

It could work. 

He knew it could.

But.

His shoulders dropped as the realisation of defeat set in. 

But Caitriona didn’t love him.

What could he do with that. 

Nothing. 

There was nothing he could do. Friends? Of course he would be her friend, he couldn’t help it. What other choice did he have. He wanted her in his life. Had always wanted her there. If he said no right now, no to friends, he was terrified she would pull away, put a distance between them from which there would be no recovery. Not for either of them. It hurt now to hear what she’d said, but, Jesus, his jaw clenched, it would hurt a hell of lot more if she was gone for good. 

“If you can’t handle friends anymore, I understand.” Her voice floated across to him, “We can just be work colleagues if that’s easier, for you.” The suggestion was filled with gentle apology and genuine concern. She cared about him. He knew that. Sam pressed his palms against the window still. He wasn’t wrong about this, he just wasn’t, he couldn’t be. There was something there between them, something more than just friends and definitely something more than work colleagues. Caitriona was far too stubborn be pushed. If anything was to ever happen, it would have to come from her. The decision would have to be hers. Pushing again now would get him no where. He had just fucking proven that. He’d pushed in Seattle, then pushed it here tonight and look where that had gotten him. 

No fucking where and fast. 

He let out a deep breath. If it was a choice between nothing and friends, he was always going to pick friends. Despite the icy feeling in his guts. Was else was there to do but wait. Wait for Caitriona to come to her senses. 

Wait for the tide to turn in his favour. 

Wait for her. 

Sam turned around. Apologetic blue eyes met his, “I’m really sorry Sam. I never meant to hurt you.” 

Why did she have to look at him like that? That look that made any resistance in him crumble, any harsh words die on his tongue and any thoughts of no friendship vanish, like smoke in the wind. 

Friends then. 

Decision made, he pushed off the window, “It’s alright Cait,” he tried to put a lighter note into his voice as he stepped around a snoozing cat and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, “You’re right about a couple of things. We make pretty great friends” He gave her a half smile, “And there may have been bit too much booze for our own good ye ken.” He shrugged, “So, shall we just chalk this one to a bad night of drinking Balfe? After all, can’t let a few drinks come between friends can we?” He felt like he’d been gut punched and given an uppercut for his trouble but he put a smile on his face made the best of it.  
“A bad night of drinking sounds about right,” She leaned forward and rested a hand on his knee, “Thank you Sam.” Blue eyes met his, “For just being a bloody great friend. My friend.”  
He covered her hand, “Tough job Balfe, but someone’s got to do it. Besides, we need all the friends I we can get.”  
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and leaned back, “Exactly. Now did you say something about dinner?”  
“I did.” Caitriona got the first genuine smile from him she’d been looking for all night as he stood and wandered into the kitchen. She felt horrible and wasn’t at all hungry, but she knew he needed this. Knew that she’d hurt him, the least she could do was eat a meal with the man and try and repair the damage she’d done. Sam leaned on the counter, digging through one of the bags. 

How could she go back to, to that, to him? How could she not see what was right here in front of her? He honestly thought this was his chance. 

She was supposed to leave Tony. Then she’d have been free. 

Free to try with him. He glanced at the couch. 

Things never worked out the way you expected. 

Still, friends wasn’t so bad, he guessed. 

Friends.

It would have to do. 

For now.


	10. Impasse

She put the bottle on the table and sat down with a soft sigh. Her head was aching from the noise, a combination of music and hundreds of people all talking at once. Caitriona twisted the cap off the bottle and took a drink of cool clear water. The place was packed with string of Lionsgate and Sony executives, their husbands and wives and, she glanced over in the direction of the bar, at least half a dozen mistresses and or hired escorts. She’d been on her feet for hours, pressing the flesh, shaking hands, making small talk, being the face of the show. Apart from dull ache just above her temple, her ankle was really beginning to protest. It wasn’t up to standing for long periods of time in heels yet and had been sending her warning signals for the past hour that had consisted of a sharp pain shooting up the back of her leg all the way to her knee. She slipped the shoe off, lifting it to lean on the footrest of the chair opposite her. It wasn’t as good as a cushion on the couch, but it did manage to allow for some elevation and was certainly better than nothing.

Caitriona leaned back in the seat, slowly sipping her drink. She glanced around at the various assemblage of people within her immediate field of vision. Groups were slowly forming, people were beginning to gravitate towards each other, formality was loosening, she observed, with the slow passing of the night. The first few hours had been filled with formal greetings and meetings. ‘Smoozing’ was the preferred term she used, but after several hours of what industry types like to call ‘networking’, jackets were shed, ties were loosened along with the stifled inhibitions. Loud pockets of laughter punctuated the air, the chinking of glasses, the ordering of vibrantly coloured cocktails, even the occasional impromptu dance. Soon, she decided, slowly trying to roll her foot back and forth in an effort to ease the ache. They’d be able to go home soon. Though, she set the bottle back on the table, she’d have to find Tony first.

Caitriona hadn’t seen much of him since they’d arrived. Not that she minded. Sometimes it was just easier to be apart at events like this. She had to spent most of the evening with Sam by default anyway, working as the Outlander unit, Mr and Mrs Outlander. That part hadn’t been too bad, better than she’d thought it might have been actually. She’d been a little anxious about things since Seattle and their little chat in her apartment, but so far, touch wood, she reached a hand out and laying it flat on the table surface, things had been returning to normal, to their usual working friendship. Whatever else was swirling around them in their personal lives, workwise, Caitriona and Sam always seemed to work better when they were together, particularly at important industry functions like this.

At least that relationship was back on track, she reflected. She wasn’t entirely sure she could say the same about Tony. He’d accompanied her tonight, as was normal, but he’d every quickly disappeared, off to talk business proposals or some such likely thing. In fact, her brows crinkled in thought, the last time she’d laid eyes on him was when he’d been talking to a group of what she thought where Sony International execs, though she couldn’t be sure, after a while, one executive looked like the next at these things, particularly ones that weren’t directly tied to Outlander.

She glanced at her watch, that had been at least four hours ago. She couldn’t really say that she’d missed him, which in itself, was troubling. She’d hoped that things would be better between them by now. Caitriona had been working hard on them, on their relationship, making an effort, going out of her way to spend time with him, to do things he enjoyed, trying to make all pieces fit together. She wasn’t entirely sure she’d been successful. Tony had seemed happy and he’d more often than not been content to do whatever she’d suggested. Given her assessment on her own level of effort, she’d been expecting, well, more. Her eyes glazed over, going unfocused as her thoughts turned inwards. She tried to narrow down exactly what that meant. What more did she expect from him? From them? He was here wasn’t he? He was letting her do whatever she had to do professionally without complaint or interference. No, she decided, that aspect had never been an issue. The real issue, she concluded as she picked up the bottle of water idly toying with the lid, lay in the fact that no matter what she did, what he did, or how hard they seemed to try, there was always the general feeling that something was not quite right. It wasn’t something that she’d been able to specifically put her finger on. If it was that simple she would have known how to fix this by now and she’d have gotten them to that place she thought they needed to be.

Sometimes it seemed like they were almost there, that things were working, that they could be happy. Just as the clouds where clearing, the persistent feeling that something was missing between them would roll in, casting a dull pall over everything they did, everything they tried. Caitriona wasn’t sure there was much more she could possibly do to lift the gloomy shroud. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just breathe, his deep voice sounded in her. Johnathon Chase. A smile drifted across her face as she recalled the owner of the words and the quite peacefulness she’d felt in that isolated cabin with Johnathon. She wondered idly what he might be doing now. She knew he’d headed back to New York after they’d left the cabin, but surely now, almost a month later, he would have moved on, to where, Caitriona had no idea, he’d never said where he was going after that. Whatever it was and whatever it was he was doing, Caitriona was really on certain of one thing. He wasn’t here.

She lifted the bottle and drained the last of the cool liquid. “Geez that’s a bit light weight ain’t it Balfe?” A long necked beer bottle wavered unsteadily in his hands as he half leaned on the table, “You the designated driver or something?”  
She’d stopped drinking hours ago, wanting to still have her wits about her while she was talking to prospective employers a sentiment her show partner didn’t appear to share. “Cute.” She drawled and nodded towards the bottle, “Some of us know to indulge in moderation Sam. What is that? Your fifth?”  
“Nae, seventh!” He said proudly, the slightly flushed cheeks and semi-glazed eyes also a testament to the fact, “And I’m gonna get to work on the next one too.” He took a healthy draw, emptying the bottle and taking a step in the direction of the bar, “Come on how about an old fashioned or a dram?”  
“No, no.” She held up a hand, “No more alcohol for me tonight.”  
“Wet blanket.” Sam said with a lopsided smile, swaying a little on his feet as he straightened, “All the more for me.” He hesitated a moment, as if his fogged brain was stuck deciding if it wanted to tell his feet to move or stand still. The result was a slight stumble that could have ended in a disastrous and somewhat embarrassing journey to the floor.  
“Sit down a minute Sam,” Caitriona suggested as she gripped his elbow, steadying him as he poured himself into the chair beside her, “You can keep me company a bit while I wait for Tony.” Clearly Sam had a case of the wobbly boots and she’d rather not have him make an idiot of himself in front of the head of the network.  
“Mmmph.” It was a guttural sound that let anyone who bothered to listen, know exactly how Sam felt about the mere mention of that particular name, “Rude to keep a woman waiting.” He grumbled, running a hand through his hair, “Just a rude prick.”  
Caitriona sighed and shot him a reproachful look. “Sorry.” He mumbled, looking away. He’d been so good lately at keeping his teeth firmly clamped around his tongue when that asshole’s name was mentioned. Most of the time he tried to pretend that Tony didn’t exist, the rest of the time he spent projecting loathing and disdain with every fibre of his being towards the man. He was trying to accept her choice to stay with him, but Sam still wasn’t convinced that Caitriona’s decision to stay with Tony was best for her. Right now, he was pretty damn certain it was the exact opposite of best. The fact that the most beautiful woman in the room was sitting alone at table was all the evidence Sam needed to reinforce his belief on the subject.  
“And where is your date Mister?” Caitriona deliberately kept the tone light. A drunken Sam Heughan wasn’t the easiest to reason with at the best of times let alone now when they were still rebuilding things.  
“Toilet.” He thought about that moment, “Or getting drinks, or something.” His memory was deserting him, having only vaguely recalling her saying something about restrooms, drinks, clubbing or something. He hadn’t really been listening at the time and had agreed just so she would shut up for ten seconds. Honestly, he’d never known a woman that talked as much as she did. Still, she was the best he could do right now without really trying. She was nice enough, he guessed, looked good enough to at least pique his interest. He thought she was studying music or something. The only thing he knew with any certainty about her was that she wasn’t Caitriona. The rest, he couldn’t care less about. As if summoned by some malevolent source, a young, long haired blond woman practically danced over to their table, a sickly looking cocktail in each hand, smiling with thinly veiled desire at Sam as she got closer. “Sammy!” She chortled in a high pitched voice that set Caitriona’s teeth on edge.  
“Christ.” Sam murmured, closing one eye in a grimace at the sound.  
“There you are!” She handed over one of the brightly coloured concoctions, “I texted Miranda and they are on their way to the club.” She slid an arm across Sam’s shoulders, skilfully insinuating herself into his lap, “We can join them as soon as we finished this drink.” She chinked her glass against his, finally looking over at Caitriona, “You can come with us if you want.”  
Not in a million years, was what Caitriona thought, “No, thanks for the offer but we’re going to head home soon,” She said instead, ignoring the hopeful look from Sam. Why on Earth Sam persisted in dating young women like this when he clearly wasn’t that impressed with them was beyond her.  
“Are you sure you won’t come Cait?”  
“My foot’s definitely not up to putting you to shame on a dance floor Heughan. You go on ahead though.”  
“If you say so Balfe.” He took a sip of the vivid blue cocktail, immediately regretting it, pushing the offensive object towards the centre of the table, “I need a real drink.” He started to stand, “Get off me will ya.” The woman barely had time to scramble off him before Sam found his feet, steadying himself with a hand on the table until the room stopped swaying, “See you tomorrow then?” He looked down at her.  
“Course Sam. Have fun.”  
“Mmph.” He grunted again, then took the woman’s arm, “Come on then, clubbing it is.” The woman wound an arm around Sam’s waist as they walked off. Caitriona gave Sam a final nod of goodbye as he looked back over his shoulder at her before being swallowed up by the party crowd. She gave her head a little shake of disbelief and made a mental note to send him a txt first thing in the morning, just to make sure that Sam at least made it home in one piece, which given his already drunken state, was not at all guaranteed. That would make the third woman in as many weeks that Sam was seeing, dating or whatever it was he doing. He was moving on, she contemplated to herself, was what he was doing. Or trying to at least.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him, even though Caitriona realised she had. Sometimes she thought it would be easier if she did love him the way he wanted her to, easier for Sam, easier for her, easier for them both. Of course, there was also the problem that it would be a lie. Perhaps it because she had been thinking more and more lately about the relationships in her life, but while she was struggling with Tony, she’d felt a definite certainty about how she felt towards her co-star. More than that, she was confident she’d made the right decision and she was sure that in time, Sam would come to the same conclusion.

Tony on the other hand. She sighed and shifted her aching foot. She’d done a lot of things in her life, some of them had been as challenging as hell, but this was really the first time she felt like she’d been caught in no man’s land. That place where you didn’t quite know what to do, which way to jump or what to do to find a way though it all.

She looked around the crowd, finally finding Tony’s form, thoroughly engrossed in a discussion with half a dozen other young men, none of which she really recognised. Probably from the business side of industry, she surmised. Tony must have felt her eyes on him because he turned, gave her a small nod and wave and turned back to the group. A few minutes later, having concluded whatever discussion he’d been involved in, he ambled over to her table.  
“Hey babe,” He bent and kissed her cheek, glancing between her and a young man in the group he’d left, “Outlander all done for the night?”  
“Yes.” She gave him a half smile, “My foot’s a bit sore, we could head home? If you’re ready I mean.” She added, trying to be considerate. Tony hesitated a moment. After three hours of sweet talking, some of it not unpleasant at all, he’d managed to get Chris Holdsworthy of Holdsworthy Financial to agree to come by the club and consider becoming a full financial partner. Another hour or so and Tony reckoned he be able seal the deal completely. He’d already promised that Caitriona would make an appearance to help boost publicity.

There was a time when he would have felt wrong to use her like this. Somewhere along the line that had changed. He wasn’t sure when, probably somewhere between Sam Heughan, the constant internet speculation and the yet unspoken self-realisation that he might be looking for something totally different romantically speaking. It wasn’t like he hadn’t returned the favour for her, being her silent plus one like he was tonight, not complaining when she had to openly be extremely friendly with her co-star, being content to walk that step behind while she got all the adoration and attention. He earned this, he reasoned. Earned the right to have her presence help him for a change. He’d been going above and beyond lately, to be with her, to solidify their relationship after his little slip up in Seattle. Going with her to every awards, every function. Even spending time off with her, visiting art shows, spending time with her friends, travelling with her to fashion functions. He’d even stepped up with sending signals about wanting to be intimate with her. He was trying with her, really he was. Surely, he could convince her to stay a few more hours, just long enough for him to close the deal. “Are you sure Babe? I mean I’m in no hurry. We can stay longer if you need too?”  
“I don’t need to.” She winced as she slipped her foot into her shoe and stood up, leaning heavily on one leg, while the blood throbbed painfully into the joint, “I’d just rather go home. I think I’ve pushed this ankle as far as it’s going to go.” She reached out for his arm, waiting for him to step along side her, “Let’s get our coats and head home.”  
“Actually babe,” He nodded back towards the group, “I’m in the middle of maybe getting some backing for the new club. I might stay on here a bit. Why don’t you head on home?”  
“Um,” She blinked slightly confused, having not expected that answer, “Okay. Yes. I’ll get a cab home, I guess and go home. Unless you need me to stay?”  
“No. No. I’ll be fine. You need to rest your foot and if I can get the backing for the club,” He smiled broadly and leaned over, softly kissing her cheek, as he helped her to the coat stand, “I’ll be able to move ahead with the new plans” He touched her side as he turned to go, “I call you tomorrow babe.”  
She nodded and watched him walk back into the room, slipped into her arms into her coat and lifting her hair out from under the collar. Caitriona hadn’t been expecting that, but she was pleased that Tony was at least having a good time. She often felt bad that Tony had to spend hours standing around at these things so the mere fact he was having a decent enough time to want to stay longer, helped to ease the feeling of guilt.

Her breath misted in the cold night air as she stepped outside waiting patiently for the cab to arrive. The door behind her opened and a group of young men stumbled outside, the more sober of the group trying valiantly to hold up the less inebriated. Caitriona wisely sidestepped, giving them a slightly wider berth. The last thing she needed tonight was to end up entangled in a mess like that. The group, while obnoxiously loud, were at least good natured. Laughter, crass remarks, and drunken platitudes were being generously shared with anyone who cared to listen. There was something about alcohol that automatically made people talk at least 50 percent louder than what they thought they were.

Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long before a black cab pulled up directly in front of her. The car door was almost shut when Caitriona was certain she heard a name she was familiar with. One of the younger men in the group, well dressed blond haired man that she was sure she’d seen in the group Tony had been talking too, had yelled exuberantly, something that Caitriona was sure had sounded like T Mac and the words drinks later. The door had clanked shut on the last part, so she couldn’t be entirely sure she had heard what she thought she heard.

Looking through the back window as the car had pulled away she had watched the young man wave his phone in the air and receive several back slaps from his companions. She shook her head, trying ignore the headache and a troubling spark of a thought that fluttered through her head before fading. She turned, concentrating on the buildings as they flowed passed the window and let her head rest against the cool glass of the window. Probably heard wrong, she mentally shrugged and took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just breathe.

A vision of his handsome face and those soft blue eyes painted the back of her eyelids. Breathe, memory sending his deep voice echoing around her head.

Johnathon Chase.

A smile drifted across her face as she recalled the owner of the words and the quite peacefulness she’d felt in that isolated cabin with him. She wondered idly what he might be doing now. She’d known he’d headed back to New York after they’d left the cabin, but surely now, almost a month later, he would have moved on. To where, Caitriona had no idea, he’d never said where he was going after that.

Whatever it was and whatever it was he was doing, Caitriona was really only certain of one thing.

He wasn’t here.


	11. Out

Caitriona looked at the closed door of the apartment and took another sip of wine, the warmth of it a distinct contrast to the chill of the room. She was sitting, cross-legged in a chair, the full length living room door was open, the breeze occasionally billowed the thin white curtain, making it snap and dance, the damp of a light drizzling rain hung heavy in the air, her blue eyes unfocussed, looking out at the bleak weather but seeing only inwards. 

This was difficult. Life was difficult. Change was difficult. Love was difficult, the lack of it, impossible. She did say to Tony that she would try. She had been. Four weeks. Four weeks ago she’d made a deal with herself, levied her guilt against his betrayal and bet on them both being able to find a way thought this mess. Caitriona had tried to hope that someway, somehow, she could go back to believing that their relationship was one she could be content with, that things would work out the way they should in the end, that the difficult times would pass. That things would become easier. She thought she could deal with this type of relationship, one that took nothing to maintain because it had no substance, nothing warranting effort. It had worked before, suited her work demands and gave her emotional distance. Surely she could make it work again. 

Caitriona took another sip, swallowing, letting the heat trickle down her throat, a warmth growing in her belly. She’d tried to make it work. Her word had been kept and she wasn’t blind to the fact that Tony had been trying too. After all, wasn’t he on his way over now, making the effort to see her on her only day off despite the fact that he’d had business meetings in London and would have to drive to Glasgow to be with her. She’d made similar efforts when she’d been able to, going out of her way to include him, spending time with him on her days off while her ankle had healed, making an effort to try and ignore Sam’s social media carryon’s, trying to make the greater public realise that when she was on the red carpet, it was work. If she was with Sam, it was work, even when it didn’t look like it. She tried protecting Tony from it all, tried protecting herself as well. 

It hadn’t been bad, but, she reached over the edge of the chair and gripped the neck of the wine bottle, it hadn’t been particularly good either. Even their physical relationship was struggling. They’d both been trying. Trying to rebuild this thing they were doing, trying to be together more, trying to make time for intimate moments. It seemed like the harder they tried, the less things seemed to be working. Last week, she took a large mouthful of wine recalling, last week hadn’t been good at all. They’d had dinner, drunk wine, spent quiet time together, just the two of them. They’d gone to bed where things had progressed. He’d tried, she guessed, but it hadn’t quite worked. She hadn’t been close, so far from close that there had been little point in even attempting to continue. Tony had given one last thrust and then collapsed with a soft grunt against her back. She’d given up, dropped her hand back to the surface of the bed, resting on her elbows, forehead pressing against the pillow, eyes closed. After a few moments of heavy breathing on his behalf, Tony had pulled out of her, sat on the side of the bed, removed the condom, and then left her alone, saying something about going for a shower. When he returned, fully dressed in long pyjamas, he had turned off the light ,kissed her cheek with a simple “Night,” and promptly turned over and gone to sleep. They’d never been particularly good at this and she had yet to remember a time she’d actually been able to finish with Tony, or any man for that matter, inside her, not without at least a little, or in this case, a lot of help via her own hands, but still, this was something else. This was verging on disastrous. She hadn’t been keeping score, but a rough reckoning told her that while Tony was managing to get what he wanted every time, she was looking a very low success rate. The last three times, he’d cum early and she’d been unable or lacking enough desire, or alcohol, one of the other, to have wanted to persist in finishing the job herself. Caitriona didn’t know what else to do to fix this. They were spending far more time together than ever before and yet the distance between seemed to be getting greater. So far, their combined reparation efforts had resulted in at least three good old fashioned shouting matches, that Caitriona was positively sure could have been heard throughout the entire apartment complex, if not the street block, two occasions where the slamming of doors had been involved and once where she’d actually walked out on him, leaving him to deal with a bar full of patrons and investors. 

It had been more frustration than actual anger. Frustration, disappointment and regret with a good measure of guilt thrown in to complete the set. Lately she seemed to be running into these feelings a lot. And not just in relation to their bedroom activities. The physical side of any relationship was important, but not as important as everything else. She could live without sex. There were well established ways and means of taking care of that oneself. But emotional isolation, emptiness, loneliness and regret were not as easily conquered alone. Feelings like that had made themselves right at home in the very forefront of every single thought and idea, hitting particularly hard last week, after they’d attended a friend’s wedding. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth glass of champagne, sitting there at a table, surrounded by other happy couples, some Caitriona knew, some she didn’t, it had suddenly occurred to her that here was another one of her friends married and settled, building lives with partners, happy and complete. She’d brushed that feeling off at first, occupying herself with spotting the singles trying to hook up that were also scattered among the celebrations, but three blue looking cocktails later, the ingredients of which remain a mystery to her still, she felt entirely alone in a room full of at least three hundred people. Worse, she’d felt that way with Tony sitting right there beside her. 

She refilled the glass and glanced at the clock. He’d be here soon. Then the decision would become final, one way or another. She may not be sure right now exactly what she was going to do when he walked through the door, but one thing was blatantly obvious, despite their best efforts and her good intentions, it wasn’t working. None of it. Everything they did, everything she did. It had all been for nothing. Even the dark slate grey of the rain filled sky seemed colourful compared to how she felt inside. Cold, dull and alone.

Had she changed? She wondered, changed without her even realising it? Changed since the accident and the cabin? Before that she’d been okay, after it, something totally different. Changed or broken? Was there even a difference? Caitriona swallowed another mouthful of wine. She felt like something had broken her in, like a rubber band stretched too tight, pulled past it’s limit, suddenly snapped, and now unable to spring back even if it wanted to. She tried committing fully to Tony. It hadn’t helped, blue eyes searched the sky, the cold of the wind pushing her long hair off her shoulders. She wasn’t a teenager, she was a grown woman. She knew what she felt wasn’t love, or at least it wasn’t anywhere near close to what she imagined love to be, but at this point in her life she wasn’t even sure that soul capturing, never ending, heart stopping love that everyone wrote about even existed. This could be as good as it gets. Hell, even her own mother had told her that no marriage was perfect. 

She’d always believed love at first sight was a myth. She had no real experience of it, but she thought she believed that love, if it existed at all, was something that needed to develop over time. Given more time, and following this theory, things might improve between them. It was possible, she supposed. Yet, somehow the thought of that possibility made her insides clench and left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Caitriona took a large swallow and rested the glass on her knee, or, she contemplated, brushing a finger over an errant drop of red about to trickle down the side of the glass, she could finally call this out for what it was and end it. Ending things would more than likely mean the end of a friendship, something Caitriona didn’t necessarily want to happen, but had accepted it as inevitable in this situation. Could lovers, she knew she was using that term very loosely, ever really return to just friends successfully? Rarely. At this point did it even matter? So many questions. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d been pondering them for a good while now. It had been four weeks since the accident and for all four of those weeks she felt like she was in a constant state of tug of war. One moment tending one way, staying with Tony, trying to fix whatever it was that was broken, the next leaning towards leaving and just living her life . Feeling off balance all the time was not something she found appealing in the least. “Christ.” She berated herself, no one to hear it but the wind, “When did you become such a coward Caitriona. Just because things are difficult, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do them.” She emptied the glass and refilled it, this time draining the bottle. 

It was time, her mind sounded. Time that she did what she knew she had to do. Time to stop being afraid. Time to do this. Not for Tony, not for Sam, not for some long lost love that may or may not be out there. This decision was for herself. Stay or go. 

When she peeled back the guilt, the betrayal and the hurt of it all, it was really just that simple. In or out. Black and white. In the light of the stark choice, one or the other, Caitriona knew which one it was going to be. Which one it had to be. Which one it had always been. She closed her eyes and breathed in the chilled air. Fresh and clean. Decision made, she swirled the last of the wine around the glass. The next few minutes were not going to be pleasant. She’d tell him as soon as the time was right. It was going to hurt him. Hurt a friend. She’d try and be gentle about it, but there was really no good way to end a relationship, even one like theirs. 

Small droplets of cold rain began to paint the tiled floor as the wind outside picked up and drizzle increased intent to rain. She heard the tumblers in the door click, her eyes watching as a flash of lightning lit the night sky for an instant before it was gone, replaced with a low rumble of thunder somewhere far off in the distance. “Caitriona!” Footsteps quickened, the rustle of bags and solid thunk of their weight on the floor. Tony swung the large doors closed, shutting out the wind and drizzling rain, “The floor is getting wet!” He shot her a disapproving look before grabbing a tea towel from the counter and industriously wiping the floor. “What you are doing?”

Did he really want to know, somehow she thought not. “Sorry. I was just thinking.” Caitriona watched him, the slow swipe of the towel arcing across the floor with each pass of his arm.   
“Been drinking again I see.” He leaned over and picked up the empty bottle, “Least it’s red. It won’t clash with the salad I got from McGinnity’s.” He wandered over to the counter, tossed the bottle in the bin with a clank and started picking up the discard bags from the floor, “Don’t forget we have the network picnic tomorrow, I really need to meet up with Berhow and get him to sign on.” Tony gathered a few of the bags in his arms, “I’m just going to take a quick shower, I didn’t have time before I left.” He disappeared off down the hall towards her bedroom, leaving the room silent once again. She drained the last of the wine and slowly unfolded her legs from the beneath her, standing and padding quietly over to the wine rack. Caitriona was sure she had another bottle in there somewhere. She thought she might need more wine. Awkward situations were always so much better with alcohol and she had the feeling this was going to be a long night. She had no idea how or even what to tell him. Straight up, or under the guise of conversation? She was tending towards a gentle, I think we need to talk.

A buzzing on the counter drew her attention. Tony’s phone was going off. One message, then another, followed by a third in about as many seconds. She grabbed a fresh bottle and pulled a seat over, setting the bottle down with a gentle clink and reaching for the phone which has now starting endlessly buzzing, signalling an incoming call. 

She had intended to simply turn it over, thus ending the call before it even began, but the caller id and its accompanying photo stopped her in her tracks. It was of a young man, unruly curly blond hair framing a slim green eyed face. His assigned id, Lover#2. 

Caitriona glanced towards the bedroom and back at the phone, closed her eyes, took a breath and slide her finger across the screen. All of the messages, flashed in front of her eyes, several of them contained images. Images that she didn’t want to see, words Caitriona didn’t want to read and yet she knew she had to and the worst of it was that she wasn’t even surprised. 

She returned the phone to its resting place. Then carefully opened the bottle of wine, surprised at how calm she felt. She refilled the empty glass and waited, leaning on the counter, watching the empty hallway, her mind suddenly quiet, almost at peace with itself. The quiet after the battle. She knew exactly what she was going to say now. 

She didn’t have to wait long before Tony reappeared, freshly pressed pants and designer shirt, neatly tucked in, complete even with a pair of soft shoes he often wore indoors, considering bare feet absolutely unthinkable. She looked at her own bare feet, just visible beneath the tattered hems of a pair of old loose jeans and couldn’t help but smile. They had never been compatible.

Tony pulled a plastic bag towards him and sat down opposite her. He retrieved two containers from the bag and placed them on bench, “Let’s eat before my curry gets cold?”  
Caitriona nodded and sipped her glass, finally putting it down with painstaking precision and opening the salad container that had been pushed in her direction, “Your phone rang.”  
The spoon stopped half way to his mouth, his eyes flicking immediately to the device, mentally giving a sigh of relief at seeing it turned over, “Probably one the planning team at the council. I was hoping to get approval through tonight. That’s why I’m so late.”   
“I see.” Her head cocked to one side “Strange name.”  
He looked at her confused, slowly chewing, “What do you mean?”  
“Strange name for a council planning associate to have.” She eyed him unblinkingly, “Lover number 2.”  
The words hung in the air, tension now crackling through each and every particle, all of them seeming to stop, hoovering frozen, waiting for the whirlwind to hit. Tony swallowed, trying in vane to push down the lump that had developed in his throat. 

She knew. 

Christ, how could he have been so thoughtless to have left his phone, that phone out here. He had been so careful about this. He’d even brought two identical looking phones. The one time he’d been careless and slipped up. The wrong handset sitting there on the counter between them. Shit. Not now, he needed to close that deal tomorrow. 

Fuck.

She knew. 

Caitriona knew. 

He’d been caught red handed. He couldn’t even use Sam Heughan this time. Not since Caitriona had been quoted in an interview saying that she wasn’t with Sam that she was with someone, not in the industry, all but confirming her relationship with Tony.  
“Caitriona, I can ex..”  
“No.” She calmly picked up the glass, “You can’t.”   
“Caitriona…” He started to move towards her.  
“Don’t.” Ice cold blue eyes flashed a warning over the rim of the glass. “Don’t. You. Dare.”  
“Caitriona it doesn’t..”  
“Yes. It does.” Her voice was steady, calm and void of emotion, not sadness nor regret, an honest reflection of exactly what she was feeling, “It’s over. This is over.” An arrow could not have been straighter and carried with it the same lethal intent. “We are over.”  
“You don’t mean that Caitriona.” He stepped to her side, “Please, it was a mistake.” Thoughts raced through his mind. If she left now, if he lost the contacts she provided, he’d be ruined. He had wagered everything with this latest deal. If it fell through, he’d face certain bankruptcy. He gripped her hand, “Please Caitriona. I swear it won’t happen again. Please.”   
She slowly took back her hand and met his gaze, a strange feeling of calm settle over her, “You’re right. It won’t happen again. This is the end Tony. “  
“Caitriona come on.” He straightened, “You said we would try. After Seattle, you said we could try. You owe me that Caitriona.” He was desperate now, trying his standard fall back, guilt, “After everything I’ve done Caitriona, don’t I at least deserve a chance here?”  
“Everything you’ve done?” Blue eyes met his, “I gave you a chance Tony and god help me, I have been trying. I did owe you that, but not anymore.”  
“Babe please..”  
“I don’t love you and I’m tired of trying to.”  
Tony stopped, real panic giving way to an anger fuelled fear. He had only one option now, hurt her emotionally until she came crawling back, “Love? Since when do people like you love anything Caitriona!” He raised his hands and let them fall against his sides, “It’s all a fucking act with you lot. Acting. On screen and off. All the time. Nothing is ever real with you is it? Half the world thinks you’re fucking Sam Heughan, which you claim is all part of your work! If you are that good at your job Caitriona, how is a man supposed to know what the fuck is real with you?” His voice was rising, “I’ve put up with you treating me no better than a casual acquaintance, I’ve put up with you trotting me out when you need me. I’ve done it all Caitriona, even put up with that red haired bastard rubbing my nose in it every chance he fucking gets.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her, “And you want to stand there and talk about love. Love has never been a factor in any of this Caitriona! We do what it necessary and that’s it!” He stopped, a little out of breath, hoping he’d stung her enough to at least succeed in a delay. “Now,” He calmed his voice, “Can we please just –“  
“Stop.” Her shaky voice interrupted him, a treacherous lone tear escaping from the corner of one misted blue eye, “Get your things.” She stood and walked to the door, opening it, silently grateful for the solidness of it, hoping to hell that her legs collapse beneath her, “Then get out of my house.”  
“Caitriona –“  
“Now. Before I call the police and have you thrown out.”   
Tony stared at her a moment. He’d lost. There was nothing else to hit her with now. Not guilt, not hurt, not sympathy, nothing. He’d exhausted every emotional button he knew. He reached over and snatched up his phone and coat and stalked past her, eyeing her as he passed close by her, “Do whatever you like with my things Caitriona. Throw them out if you want, after all that’s what you’re good at, throwing things away.” He took a step, crossing the threshold of the door, “Thanks for destroying my life. Good luck carrying on your little acting career without me.” 

She didn’t know if he wanted to say more or not. The sharp sound of the door slamming put an end to the conversation. She closed her eyes, both palms pressed tight against wooden surface of the door. 

Breathe, just breathe. She chanted softly, thick tears tracking down her cheeks. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to give his words any more power than they already had. 

Tonight had been about making a decision.

She’d made it.

In or out.

For better or worse. It was out.

She was hoping like hell right now, it was for the better. 

She didn’t know how much more ‘worse’ she could take.


	12. Impossible

“Okay, that’s it. I’m done.” Johnathon Chase threw the pen on the desk and shut the folder of the current case that his team had been called to London to help with.  He'd spent the last two hours catching up on the paper work that went along with it.

“How the fuck did you finish that so damn quick?” Jackson Porter was seated directly across from the tall blond man and as the second most senior member of investigation team, was wading though his own stack of paperwork, though, unlike Johnathon, the dark haired man, still had a good portion left to do.

Johnathon shrugged, “I dunno,” He stood up and unhooked his jacket that had been hanging across the back of chair, “Maybe it’s because I didn’t spent an hour on phone trying to find a date for every night for the three nights we have left in London?”

Jackson threw his hands up in surrender, “Hey, I’m here at what?” He turned his head and looked at his watch, “At 1:00am on a Friday night, a FRIDAY night mind you. This is just a waste of good partying time.” He swung back on his chair and crossed his hands behind his head, “Want me to get out my black book and find you a date as well? After all we are in the city of love.”

“That’s Paris, not London.”

Jackson waved a hand in dismissal, “Paris. London. It’s all the same, so much potential, so little time. Sure you don’t want to tap some of it while you’re here?”

Johnathon visibly cringed and slipped his arms into the leather jacket, flicking the collar up as he did so, “No. I’ll leave that entirely up to you.”

“Uh huh.” Jackson fished out a packet of nicotine gum from his shirt pocket and tossed two squares into his mouth, “You know, there is more to life than work right?”

“Not right now there’s not.”  Johnathon shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers seeking the car keys hidden within.

The chair squeaked as Jackson leaned further back, “You know, seriously, don’t you think it’s time?”

“Time for what?” Johnathon glanced up as he thumbed through the keys for the correct one.

“Time to get back out there.” Jackson said leaning forward and resting his arms on his desk, “It’s been a good while now. I know a few women that would fall over themselves to go on a date with you. I could call and set one up, might be good.”

Johnathon's blue eyes flicked to Jackson, “Are you off your medication again?”

“Ha, Ha.” The dark haired man shrugged off the mock accusation, “It’s time, you know, time to get back up on the horse. They say nothing gets you over the last one like getting under the next one.”

Johnathon’s blue eyes glinted, “You know what else they say? Mind your own business.” It sounded like the definite warning it was. This particular section of his life was off-limits. Even to the man he considered his family.

“All the more for women for me I guess.” Jackson knew this subject was a touchy one, but lately he was becoming more and more concerned about Johnathon. Ever since those damned pictures and those fucking calls, the source of which was still a mystery and the breakup, his friend hadn't been himself.   A lot more than just a relationship had been been broken. Something else, something far deeper had been severely injured in his friend, that much was clear. Jackson had watched as Johnathon had drawn back into himself, burying that happy, go lucky persona that was so much a part of him, replaced by a reserved, guarded man who lived to work. Life for him now consisted of case after case. Apart from a week two months ago, Johnathon hadn't had a day off. Not so much as one day. Even now, when they'd finished this case early and still had a few days left here in the city, Jackson knew damn well that Johnathon would spend it working on one of the handful of cold cases that his friend often worked on alone. Work life balance like that wasn't good for anyone. He'd give it one last try, “ Listen man, it’s just that, well, it’s been a few months now -”

“I know.” Johnathon’s deep voice sounded, interrupting the conversation, a note of finality clinging to its edge, “Leave it alone, Jackson. Just leave it be.”  The dark haired man fiddled with the top of his silver lighter, green eyes flicking to watch his friends face. Last thing he wanted was to make Johnathon angry. He was just trying to help and figured the best way to do that was to get Johnathon back out there, back dating again, meeting people, having a life outside of work. Work like what they did could seriously mess with you given enough time. They saw things no one should, saw the dark side of humanity and Jackson wasn’t above admitting that it was as scary as fuck and could easily take over your life, leaving you with nothing good, only darkness and death. He didn’t want that for the man he considered his brother. Jackson took a deep breath and nodded, “Okay. Okay” He raised his hands in mock surrender, “Far be it from me to mess up your big plans for a night in front of the tv or whatever it is you have planned.”

Johnathon took the peace offering in the spirit with which it was intended,  “Believe me, that’s is probably going to be exponentially more action than what you are likely to see.”

Jackson nodded thoughtfully before grinning, “ So..... was that no on the babe for tonight?”

“There is something seriously wrong with you.” Johnathon shook his head with a smile and turned to go, “If you don’t get that started,” He pointed a finger at the pile of folders, “You won’t be going anywhere.” Johnathon began walking away, “And women all over the world will cheer.”

“So funny.” Jackson picked up the pen, “Real funny.” He blew out a breath and then picked up another folder, looked at it a moment and then yelled, “Last chance Chase.”  
Johnathon didn’t answer, instead he walked outstepping through the security area and out into the undercover parking garage.

Johnathon yanked opened the door and slid into the soft seat with a sigh. This case had been a tough one and Johnathon was glad it was over. He gripped the wheel and leaned back in the car seat, driving almost on automatic pilot though the city. It was a good feeling to know they had done it, that they'd had found the three evil bastards that had been assaulting women in Leeds for the past two weeks. Not only that, but they’d been lucky enough to bring all three of them in before any major media outlets had cottoned on to it. It had all been handled quickly and quietly, exactly how Johnathon wanted it to be. Three families had been spared the misery of seeing their loved ones having to deal with the ever present press, incessantly wanting to make them relive the whole ordeal, often in heart rending graphic detail. With the closing of the case from his side, it now landed in the hands of the prosecutors to make sure that some form of justice was done.

He turned off the main motorway down into the narrower inner London streets. Traffic here wasn’t as heavy as he expected but there was still enough to make the going slow. Still, it gave him time to relax, reorder his thoughts, leaving the case, the interviews, the unpleasant details of it all behind him. It had been exhausting, but the outcome was more than worth the 72 hrs he’d gone without sleep. He swung into the small driveway, angling down the entry ramp and following the gentle spiral down to the lowest level of the underground parking bay of the hotel. It was almost empty down here, most guests didn’t have their own vehicles, preferring to rely on taxis or public transport rather than attempting to navigate the inner city traffic. While he wasn’t a fan of traffic, Johnathon liked to have his own method of travel. Working long unusual hours and travelling to remote sites was just easier if he did his own driving and it had the added benefit of not making him feel quite so closed in. He preferred large open spaces, quiet simplicity to the noisy, hustle and bustle of the city, but like everyone else in the world, he went were his work lead him and more often than not that was into the heavily populated cities or the world.

Last week it had been Washington, then Nashville, before that Sydney, Australia. At least that had given him a chance to go home and check on a few things at the same time. Home. Was anywhere really home anymore? Not as if there was anyone anywhere waiting for him. He wondered for a moment if Jackson might not be right. Maybe it was time. Christ, he must really be tired if he was contemplating romantic advice from Jackson. He shook his head at the mere thought of admitting that.  

He would admit to himself, however, that he missed having someone to share things with, that one person who cared, who was there, who could be trusted with everything. He’d had that once. Now, with the safety of time passed and an earned emotional distance from the whole situation, he could at least admit he missed that feeling. He'd stumbled across a person who’d given him that, by pure chance. Now, it was gone. Crushed and broken, shattered into a million little shards, slivers and pieces.  Never to be repaired.  He wasn’t an expert on relationships, not even close, but he did realise that finding that connection with someone wasn't something usually happened twice. Chances were even more remote now that Johnathon’s existence consisted of hotel rooms, airport lounges and police stations.

Different cities, different countries. Sometimes he’d be in a place less than three days before he was gone again. Not exactly conducive to finding someone to share a life with. He pulled into the last car park beside the lifts.  It was what it was, he guessed and he was how he was. Casual flings and liaisons weren’t something he’d ever found appealing in the least.  Finding that someone, someone who wasn’t just scratching an itch was near on impossible at the best of times, let alone given his circumstances and work commitment and right now, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he was up to another relationship. After all, here it was, almost 2 am and Johnathon wanted nothing more than get to his room, have a hot shower and crawl into bed and sleep. So unless the impossible just happened to walk smack bang into this hotel lift, his elusive 'someone' would have remain a pipe dream for the near and foreseeable future.

Johnathon gathered up his coat and briefcase, waiting patiently and watching the countdown display as the lift made its way down, floor by irritating slow floor.  At least it was empty when it finally arrived. He pressed the button indicating his floor and then moved the back of the lift, leaning against the handrail and crossing his legs at his ankles, hoping that with the late hour, there wouldn’t be too many stops on the way up. His luck ran out when on lift stopped on the lobby floor. He glanced up as the doors opened. Johnathon had to blink twice before his mind caught up with optical input, pushing off the handrails in startled surprise, “Caitriona.”


	13. Hoping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for sticking with me. Just letting you know, I won't be posting for a few weeks. Renovations means I will be without internet access for a bit. But I will be back. Cheers to you all.

Caitriona scanned the room, her height giving her a natural advantage in this particular situation. It was late, though for this crowd, the night was young. Industry parties like this tended to start late and finish even later. This particular party was filled to overflowing with corporate sponsors, entertainment executives and various management and PR personnel. As the lead actress and face of the Outlander production her presence had been mandatory, as was the target of her search. She glanced over towards the small group of underling assistants she’d last seen him talking to and found that he’d moved from there. She swivelled back and forth, glancing from face to face until she found him. He was standing, surprisingly alone, on one of the smaller balconies, overlooking a manicured courtyard garden, his broad back to the crowd. Caitriona picked up the two glasses and headed his way. Another half hour or so and they’d be able to leave, obligations fulfilled, job done. It couldn’t come soon enough for her. Her ankle had healed well, but it still ached when she stood in heels for long periods of time. She navigated her way through the crowd, nodding greetings and excuse me’s as she worked her across the room, finally clearing the threshold and stepping out into the cool night air, “Here,” she said as she stepped to his side, “You look like you need this.”

Sam blinked, scattering his thoughts and accepted the offering, “Thanks. Think I just needed the fresh air more than anything.” He tossed the drink back and in one swallow it was gone. Caitriona raised an eyebrow at him. Perhaps she’d been premature in thinking that they’d found a way through all that mess that had been precipitated by Seattle and then again when she’d ended things with Tony. 

She liked Sam, a lot. He had a good heart and they did work astonishingly well together. He’d been a great support to her and a great friend through all this whirlwind of Outlander. Caitriona valued her friends and Sam Heughan was definitely that. She never wanted to lose him.

What was becoming more and more obvious to her though, was that he wasn’t someone she could spend her life with, build a future with, give herself fully to. When she’d broken with Tony, Sam had tried again with her, wanting to take things further. She’d hadn’t left Tony to be with Sam or anyone else for that matter. She’d left Tony because she wasn’t happy. Sam had viewed the breakup as a signal of hope for them to be more than what they were. Caitriona had immediately set him straight, telling him what she felt, being openly honest with him. She hoped they would always be close friends, but that was all they would ever be. 

It hadn’t been a decision she’d taken lightly and it wasn’t one that she hadn’t thought about. She had. For a small window of time after Tony, she had thought about Sam, had considered what that might mean, thought very carefully about how exactly she felt, how he made her feel, what they had between them. 

She’d considered it, looked deep inside herself and had come to the solemn conclusion that Sam already had a place in her heart. Friends. It wasn’t anything that Sam did or didn’t do. It wasn’t anything she’d done or hadn’t done. It was no one’s fault. It was just the way it was. 

In the wake of her decision, Caitriona had thought everything was okay, that things were settled, that Sam was okay with it all, that he’d accepted things were what they were. Mr and Mrs Outlander to the public, friends in private. Nothing more and nothing less than that. Judging from the downcast set of his shoulders, things were clearly far from okay.   
“The air getting a bit close in there?” Caitriona sipped her own drink, the warm fire trickling down her throat to her belly, “You were collecting quite the little bevy of female followers.” She smiled good naturedly. It was true. Sam was never short of female admirers, they seemed to gravitate towards him and industry parties were no different.   
“Mmph.” He let out a derisive snort, “One of them, the blonde, wants to go out clubbing after this,” He turned away from her, leaned on his elbows and gazed into the greenery, often out of place in large cities.  
“Are you going to go?”  
“Thinking about it,” He pondered with a shrug, “Do you think I should?” He looked up at her, a clear question behind the spoken words.   
“If you want to, then absolutely Sam,” She reached over and laid a hand on his arm, “You should do what makes you happy you know.”  
“Tried that. Didn’t go over a big hit.” He blinked slowly at her, “Are you sure about this Cait? It’s not too late to ch..”  
“Stop Sam,” She warned gently, tightening her hand around his forearm, “You need to move on from this.”  
His eyes were searching hers, one last chance at persuading her to try. Sam loved her, he was sure of it, had loved her for a long time now. Loved her as his best friend and wanted desperately to take it to the next level. A chance was all he was asking. Just one last try. “Cait, we could just try – “  
“Sam...”  
He saw it, saw it in her eyes and his heart cracked a little more. He’d thought after the whole Tony bullshit and his inexcusable behaviour, that he might have at least a chance. But no. He looked at her, standing there beside him, the most exquisitely beautiful woman in the entire room, right here with him and yet, so far from his that she may as well be in another country. All he could was wait. Wait and hope for a change of heart. Waiting was as frustrating as hell, but what else was there. Give up. Not likely. Give her an either or choice? No. He wasn’t the type to be an asshole about it by forcing her to make a choice. He’d never been the my way or the highway type of man and wouldn’t be able to do that to her even if he wanted to. 

She was right about one thing. They were friends. Good ones, great even. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but, friendship was better than nothing, he guessed. Sam stood up straight, sticking his hands in his pockets, trying to put a smile on his face despite what he felt, “Guess I’ll be going clubbing then.”  
“I think you need more liquor if you’re going to survive that my friend.” Caitriona smiled, half relieved and accepting the flag of truce for what it was as she handed over the remains of her drink. Caitriona recognised it wasn’t easy for him and she had no desire to hurt him further by letting him continue to think there could ever be a them when as far as she was concerned, there wasn’t. She wasn’t about to rub that fact in his face either.   
“Wish me luck then.” Sam downed the last of her drink, grimacing as the heat hit the back of his throat.  
“You’ll need it, with those two left feet of yours.” She took the empty glass from his hands as he turned around and waved at the blonde woman inside, “Go on.” Caitriona lightly patted his shoulder, “Go show them how it’s done Sam.”   
He hesitated a moment then leaned over and kissed her cheek, “See you tomorrow?”  
“Of course.” She watched as he gave her one last look, then he strode off towards the group of women inside. Caitriona made a mental to shoot him a text later to make sure he at least made it back to the hotel safely. Speaking of hotel, she leaned on one leg, lifting her aching foot a little and gingerly rolling it around. The thought of a soft warm bed seemed infinitely more attractive than continuing to stand here around any longer. She’d well and truly fulfilled her obligations and most of the other party guests were beginning to filter out into whatever other night time activities they could find. Caitriona decided to follow suit. By the time she had collected her coat and called for a taxi it was well after 1 am. Least the traffic was reasonable at this time of night. She leaned her head against the glass of the window, watching as the buildings drifted by, much like the thoughts rolling around behind her eyes. She hoped things would be alright with Sam, hoped she knew what she was doing. 

Not for the first time in recent weeks she wondered if she was one of those people who went through their life alone. Part of her was really starting to believe that, but another part, wondered what it would be like to have that one person, who was there, always be there, who could be trusted to be there for no other reason than they wanted to. Not for themselves, but for her, for eachother.

If it hadn’t been for her parents, Caitriona might have been able to convince herself that type of thing as a ridiculous idiotic romantic notion, best left to fairy tales and unfulfilled dreams. She was still contemplating that as she pushed the revolving door of the hotel and headed into the mostly empty lobby. There were still small pockets of guests coming and going, but all in all it was quieter than she expected for a Friday night. She looked up at the red display, tracking the lifts progress as she pressed the button, hoping it wouldn’t take too long to arrive and that it would be blessedly empty. Noisy late night revellers weren’t really on her list of things do right now, particularly not in the close confines of a hotel elevator. Luckily it didn’t take long, no more than a couple of minutes, before the metallic doors slide open a soft ding sounding to herald its arrival. She looked up, a soft gasp of surprise issued from her lips. 

He was the last person she’d expected to see. Blue eyes she immediately recognised. “Caitriona.” His deep voice sounded as surprised as she felt. He snapped to attention, pushing off the rail and standing straight. 

It took a few long heartbeats to gather her scattered wits and her mouth to finally work, “Hello Johnathon.”   
His handsome face creased into a smile, as he reached forward, stopped the doors from closing, which would have left her standing there like an idiot having forgotten to get into the lift. “Are you, um..” He tilted his head towards the back of the lift.  
“Oh right, yes.” She said with a small laugh then stepped into the lift, hoping her face was a red as it felt. She gave her head a small shake, internally cursing at herself, frantically trying to pull herself together, “What are you doing in London Johnathon?” She knew it was the standard meet and greet question and couldn’t be more cliched and superficial if it tired, but right now Caitriona was just happy that what came out of her mouth was actually coherent. 

Johnathon Chase had been the second to last person she’d expected to run into tonight, the last being Jesus Christ himself. He looked good, she mused, very good. She normally didn’t tend to be attracted to the men that were solidly muscular, but Johnathon was proving to be the exception that made the rule. Overly muscular was a definite turn off, Johnathon fell somewhere in the middle and her body wasn’t shy in voicing this new found approval, significantly aided by the half a dozen drinks she’d had at the party. It wasn’t enough for her to be drunk, but enough to dull some of the sharper edges of her thinking. Johnathon’s deep voice pulled her attention back to his face, “Working.” Those blue eyes locked momentarily with hers, “Just lending a hand to the local constabulary. You?”  
“Industry event for the show.” She cleared her throat and tried to not focus on the fact that he not only did he look good but he also sounded good, that Australian accent of his only adding to intrigue. Maybe she’d had too much to drink.   
“Of course,” He raised an eyebrow, as if trying to remember, “Outlander, right?”   
“That’s right.” She said with a soft smile, some of her initial nervousness dissipating as the floors slowly passed by, silently charmed that he remembered some small fact about her. “What are you doing out this late?”   
“It’s only 2 am. Normal working hours for us in the force you know,” He said with a cheeky grin, “Isn’t that early for you entertainment folk?”   
“Us entertainment folk?” Caitriona couldn’t help laugh. His good humour was utterly infectious and seemed to reach out and pull her in as surely as if it was a length of rope. “I don’t know about you force folk,” She shot him her own grin, “Or where you’re getting your information, but 2 am is considered late.”   
The lift stopped, doors sliding open, Johnathon standing still while Caitriona passed in front of him, stepping out onto the deserted long corridor of the hotel, rooms lining either side in both directions. “How is that foot by the way?” He fell into step beside her, slowly ambling down the corridor.  
“It’s coming along nicely. Wasn’t broken, obviously,” She lifted the foot in question, “It was sore for a few weeks though.”  
“I can imagine, a good sprain can take months to mend.” Johnathon nodded towards the heeled shoe, “Probably hurting a bit after being in that is it?”   
“A little.” She conceded, “Couldn’t be helped though.”  
“Guess not,” He said conversationally, “Not like you can rock up in thongs I suppose.”  
“No, wouldn’t advise it, us entertainment folk have standards, though,” She laughed softly, “I would love to see you say that in a room of our US friends.”   
A brilliant smile lit his face, neat white teeth flashing, “Half would be probably be appropriately scandalized the other half would be thinking how I knew specifically what underwear they had on.” He gave an amused chuckle, remembering as she had, that thong had a very different meaning dependant on geographic location. One being very casual footwear, the other, a piece of underwear.  
“Might have livened the place up a bit and made it a bit more bearable.”   
“Must have been a bad night if you’re telling me a thong joke would have been a highlight.”   
“An evening of hours of standing around talking about nothing to strangers,” She smiled wryly at him, “Trust me, it would have been a highlight.” 

They drew to a slow halt, stopping in front of Caitriona’s assigned room, blue eyes regarding each other as a small silence fell. It was the first time all night she’d relaxed enough to actually enjoy the company of anyone. Relaxed, in a nervously excited way that was difficult to reconcile and Caitriona found herself suddenly wanting to say something, anything to keep him talking to her. She’d walked slowly enough down that corridor that it was a wonder they hadn’t been moving in reverse. “How long are you in London for?”   
“We fly out Tuesday morning.”  
“We?” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it, with no way to pull it back.  
“My partner and I”  
Caitriona felt her stomach flicker with what she thought was disappointment, “There are plenty of romantic spots to visit in London to help pass the time.” She might have been slightly tipsy, but she could still hold it together. She was an adult after all. She eyed his handsome face. She hardly knew him. It wasn’t like she cared or anything. 

He looked at her strangely a few moments, the wrinkled brow of confusion suddenly fading, replaced by a broad smile, “My work partner,” Johnathon clarified, “In the investigation Team.” He added after a beat, trying not laugh at the thought of showing Jackson of all people, the romantic side of London.  
“Work partner?” Caitriona gave her head a little shake, “Shit, sorry. Of course.” She said, deciding that now was an excellent time to study her feet. Johnathon Chase was definitely having an effect on her capacity to carry out a sensible adult like conversation. Either that or she was far drunker than she thought.  
“I’ll keep your advice in mind if I ever find someone who fits that bill.” His voice was soft and smooth, flowing like molten honey into her hearing. The nervous fluttering in her stomach returned, her head lifting to see those blue eyes looking at her gently, “And what about you Caitriona? When are you and your partner heading home?”

She blinked slowly at him. Was he information hunting like she had been? The clear blue eyes watching her never wavered as she studied him, “I’ll can leave any time after Monday,” she said, her heart beating far too loudly in her chest, “No partner though, it’s just me now.” As if the sight and sound of him wasn’t enough, Caitriona also decided the Johnathon smelt good, that unidentifiable scent that was clean, male and thoroughly intoxicating. 

The statement seemed to hang in the still air between them, like the short pause between lightning and thunder, or the inhale and exhale of a breathe, the two of them, standing quietly, face to face in that hotel corridor. Both knowing exactly where they wanted to go, but neither knowing how to get there.   
“I should probably stop keeping you from the rest of your evening,” his head dipped to one side in a slight nod, “It was good to see you again Caitriona.”  
“You too, Johnathon.”   
He smiled at her then turned and started walking towards his own room. Johnathon hadn’t gone more than a handful of steps when he stopped. A small voice in the back of his mind, nothing much more than whisper directed at that intelligent mind of his. Don’t be afraid. Isn’t it time? Take the chance.  
“Caitriona?”   
She looked up at him from her hotel door, the key card in her hand, resting just above the lock, dark brows raised in question.  
“If you’re not too busy, which you probably are, but anyway..” Johnathon stopped speaking, wondering just when did this suddenly become this difficult and why the hell the ability to form simple sentences had deserted him, “Would you like to catch up, sometime? Tomorrow over coffee or lunch or something? Maybe?” He took a clearing breath, hoping he didn’t sound as stupid as he felt. 

Waiting.

Hoping.


	14. Just a Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay readers. Real life and all that. I hope to update every fortnight or thereabouts from now on.

Caitriona checked her makeup for the fourth time in as many minutes. God, she mentally cursed, smoothing a hand over the sheer dark blue fabric of her stomach, twitching the long dress straight. She’d forgotten how nerve-wracking dating could actually be. Her brow wrinkled. Was that what this was? She leaned on the counter bench, staring quietly into the mirror, contemplating. Was that how he saw it? The dazzling smile that had lit his eyes from the inside and had sent a swarm of butterflies skittering pleasantly around her stomach as the words “I’d love to Johnathon,” had spilled from her lips without a single second of hesitation, all seemed to indicate to her that there was a strong possibility that he did. 

A date. The warm buzzing in her stomach tickled her skin at the thought. Of course, the rational side of her brain asserted, there was also the possibility that this really was just a polite catch up and not a date at all. The politeness attribute was certainly one that Johnathon had displayed in the cabin. In fact, he had been nothing but companionable and polite. 

In an instant the butterflies vanished. What if she was reading this entirely wrong? After all, they’d spent three days together and neither of them had even ventured into anything that could remotely be considered as romantic territory. Granted the situation then had been totally different. She had been in a relationship, recovering from an car accident. He had been aloof and while companionable , had also been distant. How on earth was she making this leap between then and now. 

There was no way this could be a date.

Right?

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She breathed, sternly addressing her reflection, “Get it together Caitriona. It’s just a dinner.” She let out a deep breath, giving herself one last appraising look, before pushing off the counter and going in search of her shoes. 

It was just a dinner. 

No big deal.

Just a dinner.

With a man. 

Not a date. 

Just a dinner. 

That was for the best anyway. She didn’t exactly have a great track record when it came to understanding relationships with the opposite sex. The last two she’d been involved with had been nothing short of pure disaster and she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted her instincts in this arena at all. She scowled at the anxious indecision plaguing her. She hadn’t always been like this. Caitriona remembered a time when she had been one to leap first and look later. Now, at thirty, with a decade of independent life experience at her back, the order had changed somewhat. Caution was the name of the game now, at least in her private life. Professionally she was happy to take some risks. Professionally the worst that could happen was that she go bankrupt or get fired. That she could recover from. Easily. Personally however, the potential fallout from failure was far more devastating. 

Still, she couldn’t just shut the world out. Flipping open one of her suitcases, she found the elusive footwear. One way or the other, she reflected, resting on one hand and slipped each foot into its respective shoe, she’d find out in about ten minutes what Johnathon’s view of this situation was. Gathering up her purse and hotel key, she shot herself one last critical look in the mirror, took a deep breath and reached for the hotel door. 

She hadn’t expected to see Johnathon again, ever, but now that she had, she couldn’t help it. She wanted this. Date or not. She wanted to see him, and was even looking for the opportunity to spend time the evening with him. Caitriona stepped inside the elevator, waiting for it to descend to the lobby, trying to calm her nerves. She checked her appearance again in the walled mirrors of the elevator car. 

Christ, it was just a dinner, she repeated. 

Caitriona shook her head, mentally chastising herself to get it together before the doors opened at least, determined to not repeat the stunned mullet look she’d very adequately projected the last time Johnathon Chase and elevators had been involved. The doors slid open and she stepped out into a busy hotel lobby.   
Caitriona scanned the room, finally finding him, his tall, athletic frame casually leaning against a building column. Dressed simply in a dark blue shirt, the soft glint from the silver of his watch, barely poking out from beneath one long sleeve, long arms crossed over his chest waiting patiently for her to arrive. She wondered if he realised just how good he looked. If he did, he certainly gave no indication of it. Caitriona started towards him. She hadn’t gone more than dozen steps when his head turned and crystal blue eyes had found her. He straightened and walked to her, meeting her halfway, a warm smile on his face. In the space of a few seconds the worrisome nerves and rumination about what this was or wasn’t dissolved and as if by magic was replace by the gentle warmth of anticipation.  
“Hello Caitriona.” The deep timbre of his voice saying her name, sent a pleasant tickle skittering down her spine.  
“I’m sorry I’m late,” She said returning his smile, “I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”  
“Not long at all. I only just came down here myself a few minutes ago,” He stepped to her side and offered his arm with a small flourish, “What do you say? Shall we?”  
She dipped her head in agreement, tucking her hand beneath his elbow and starting across the lobby towards the large doors that marked the entrance. As they stepped out into the portico, several black cabs were lined up, gradually filling with passengers headed out for the evening. Caitriona started towards one of them only to find herself gently directed along the paved walkway.  
She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, a slight look of confusion on her face. “We don’t need a cab?”  
“No. I think we’ll be okay,” He said, steadying her as she navigated the small set of stairs that lead towards the street.   
She shot him an apprehensive look. She didn’t fancy walking a great distance in her heels. Tall, hot and handsome man by her side or not.  
“Don’t worry, it’s not far.” 

She was a little relieved to hear that. He hadn’t provided her with any information as to where they might be going, and she hadn’t asked. She’d been too busy saying yes to him. She hoped she wasn’t about to regret that now. They turned down a corner and much to her surprised, not 50 metres away she could see the entrance to a restaurant. She’d been to London dozens of times, stayed in this particular hotel, just as many times and had never even realised that this restaurant existed. It looked to be a small, but reasonable well appointed.   
“Italian okay?” He asked,reaching out a hand and gripping the door, “We can go somewhere else if you’d like?” His paused, clean-shaven face quirked into a cheeky grin which instantly warmed her, “I’ll even call a taxi if we need it.”  
She gave a small chuckle, “Italian will be fine Johnathon.”   
“Phew,” He drew an exaggerated hand across his brow and flashed a cheeky smile, then pressed open the door, waiting for her to cross in front of him.  
It was busy inside. The place was packed with dining guests, in fact Caitriona was hard pressed to spot a free table and she wondered for a moment if they were both about to be disappointed.   
“Johnathon Chase. Table for two.”   
The woman behind the counter, glanced down at her reservations book, placing a mark beside an entry, “Of course Mr Chase, just this way.” She led them through the busy restaurant and settled them at a table off to one side. It always amazed her, how in places like this, when so many people gathered together, all eating and drinking, that the volume of the surrounds always seemed to be muted, slightly dampened by propriety.   
“Can I get you both something to drink?” The waitressed asked, handing them each a menu, Caitriona not missing the smile the woman flashed Johnathon. Apparently Caitriona wasn’t the only one who found Johnathon’s physically appearance appealing. Johnathon, she observed, couldn’t have cared less, politely taking the menu and studying it. Caitriona rather pleased at that, settled on an Italian red wine that she hadn’t had in a while, not since her last trip to the actual country itself. She’d looked for it several times since then but had been unsuccessful in finding it. Until this evening. She was surprised for a second time when her tablemate didn’t join her with wine, instead choosing a scotch and dry ginger ale. Caitriona wrapped hand around her glass, glancing over the rim as she sipped it, taking in Johnathon’s features as he studied the menu. She’d already made her selection, a vegetable pasta with goats cheese sauce and bitter greens and was now sitting waiting for Johnathon do to the same. Blue eyes flicked up to her, one blonde eyebrow raising in question, “You’ve found something already?”  
“I have.” She nodded and set the glass down, “Hard choice, there was a lot there that sounded delicious. This place has a great selection of dishes that suit me down to the ground.” There were in fact a plethora of vegetarian meals, all listed, along with several gluten free meals. 

A thought struck her. She studied him, sitting across from her, blue eyes blinking innocently. Surely he hadn’t done that on purpose. She’d only mentioned it in passing that first night, back in the cabin. He wouldn’t have remembered that. 

Would he?

“How did you find this place? I’ve been in London many times and didn’t know it was here. “

He closed his own menu, selection apparently complete, “One of the other investigators I work with told me about it, though,” He lifted his own glass, swallowing a sip, “I can’t vouch for the quality of his recommendations. They tend to run a bit hot and cold.” In truth, it had been Jackson who had found the place because one of his so called ‘dates’ had turned out to be a strict vegetarian and a coeliac. Of course, the fact that the hotel was literally around the corner had also played heavily into the Jackson’s assessment of the place. “If it turns out to be a bum steer, then I willingly defer to your good judgement as to where we go next.”   
“There is always the fish and chip shop around the corner in a pinch.” She playfully quipped  
As if on que, the waitress reappeared, standing quietly at the table’s edge, notepad in hand, glancing from one diner to the other.  
“Too late to escape now.” Johnathon quirked a grin, and placed his order.

Yes, Caitriona decided watching him with her own smile. 

It most certainly was.


	15. Instinct

Caitriona let out a deep breath, watching as it clouded in the cold air as she stepped outside the restaurant. Small puddles of damp littered the walkway, pavers and cobble stones, darkened with the remnants of earlier rain that had now eased for the moment but had also ushered in a drop temperature. It was late, far later than she intended it to be. Time had just run away from her. They had talked, laughed and generally enjoyed each other’s company until they’d realised they were the last patrons in the entire place, the staff, clearly wanting to shut down for evening, were wiping down tables and stacking chairs. Caitriona had stepped outside, leaving Johnathon to pay the bill, one that he’d stubbornly refused to let her pay even a small portion off. That, she reflected, felt so unusual. After the past few years and partners, she had become so used to paying for everything that it had become almost second nature. To have someone quietly offer it, was a strange feeling, albeit, not entirely an unpleasant one. In fact, the entire evening had been, at least according to Caitriona’s mental checklist of what constituted as catch up dinners, nothing other than a qualified success. No pretention, no expectation, just the two of them, sitting quietly, talking about anything and everything. 

They’d started with their respective families. Her family, complete with her mother and father and seven siblings a stark contrast to his. He was an only child. Both his parents having been killed when he was a young boy. Caitriona had spent her entire life surrounded by family. Even when she hadn’t really wanted or needed it, there was a certain level of comfort and belonging that came with the knowledge that both her parents were still there if she needed them. Not to mention the close, sometimes too close she reflected, relationship she shared with her sisters. She couldn’t really imagine what it might feel like to have lost all that by the time you were two years old. How do you even begin to comprehend that when you’re barely old enough to understand anything at all. No siblings, no parents, just him. The only other living person on the planet remotely connected to him had been his uncle on his mother’s side. Johnathon had lived with him until he was four and after than he’d been sent to various boarding schools then on to university until he’d started work as a young adult. It seemed a very lonely, solitary existence to Caitriona and such a different upbringing from her own, where the chaos, noise and the activity of a large groups of people permeated almost every experience she’d had growing up. Even later as a model, when she was old enough to be forging her own way, Caitriona always seemed to be surrounded by people. It made her wonder for a moment what effect something as emotionally devasting as losing your family have on shaping you as a person. Perhaps it had played in a part in his selection of occupations. Though, she’d been surprised to discover that he hadn’t always been a detective. He had spent at least five years in law enforcement and had practiced law for some time before that. 

She turned her head, quietly studying his profile through the closed glass door. Tall, strong straight back, framed by those square shoulders that looked entirely functional rather than the exaggerated muscularity achieved from hours, too many hours if you asked her, in the gym. Johnathon looked to her to be the type of person far more comfortable with the outside world, moving around in it, rather than the claustrophobic monotony of interior corporate worlds, stuck inside, day after day. The smooth defined physicality of him seemed to support this theory but if there was one thing she had learned from her time as a model and now as an actor, never make assumptions based on looks. She watched him appreciatively a moment longer before turning back to the street, quietly studying the old stone work on the surrounding buildings as her mind turned inward again, intent on digesting the evening. Her earlier ruminations about what Johnathon thought this evening was or wasn’t were now totally moot. It might have started out as a polite catch up, but after they had quickly establishing that the other was indeed single, it was clear that the evening was drifting steadily but surely into a situation that could only be classified as date.

For her part, Caitriona had not so innocently brought up the topic when she had asked if he found it hard to travel with his job and have someone at home. Johnathon had replied with a small smile. One that told her instantly that he knew exactly what she was hunting for. His verbal answer had followed. It had been unhesitatingly certain. He was currently single by way of a situation that he hadn’t really elaborated on but that had happened about four months ago. Caitriona hadn’t pressed for details. She’d seen the flicker in those blue soft eyes and decided that the first date wasn’t the time to delve into his personal history. That could wait. The only thing that really mattered at this point was that he was as single as she was. It had been the metaphorical green light that she had needed for the evening to swing on its natural arc from a friendly catch up to something entirely different. Caitriona was a lot of things and had made more than her fair share of mistakes in the past, but she wasn’t a homewrecker and had exactly zero intention of becoming one. If Johnathon had revealed, at any point during the evening, that there was a significant other hidden somewhere, anywhere, in his background, then the evening and all thoughts to the contrary would have been instantly discontinued. Of that she was certain. It was the line she would not cross.

As it was, as far as Johnathon had admitted at least, there was no surprise spouse lurking around a hidden corner waiting to side swipe her. However, Caitriona wasn’t naive enough to think that just because Johnathon had said there was no one, that didn’t necessarily make it so. To be honest, she didn’t really have the best track record when it came to detecting deception. For a few dreadful seconds she’d felt herself tottering on the brink, that uncomfortable fulcrum between believing someone is telling the truth, trusting that or looking for the lie in everything whether it existed or not.  
It was a shocking legacy of her lifetime of relationship failures that always reared its ugly head when she least wanted it to. She’d looked into his eyes while he’d been talking and despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to find any deception, not even the barest hint of it. She sniffed reflectively and absently rubbed her arms against the slight chill in the air, maybe she was wrong, maybe her instincts were off, but Caitriona just couldn’t shake feeling that if she had still been with Tony, or been with anyone for that matter, that Johnathon would never have even asked her out here tonight. She had no proof or any reason to why she believed that. It hadn’t been any one thing that he’d said or even done, it was more of an overall feeling that Caitriona got from him, not just from tonight, but from their time in the cabin as well. Trusting her instinct meant she’d have to take a chance. Problem was, she wasn’t sure she was ready to do that, to go there again. She gave her head a small shake. So far, it was just a dinner.

Caitriona heard the door open behind her and turned to see Johnathon’s tall form step out, one hand tucking his wallet into his back pocket as he glanced up at the night sky, the storm clouds visible through the city haze. A strong gust of chill wind bulleted down the alley causing both parties to draw their shoulders up in a surprised shiver.  
“Lazy wind that one.” Johnathon commented, stepping to Caitriona’s side and shaking out his coat with a flick of the wrist. She him a flashed him a confused look.  
“Doesn’t bother going around you, just blows straight through instead.” He clarified with a slight smile, draping his coat across her shoulders.  
“Thank you,” She said, drawing the edges of his blissfully warm coat around her, “That’s London weather for you. Pleasant one moment, raining and cold the next.”  
“Mmm.” He agreed as they started back towards the hotel, “Bit different to summertime in Australia, that’s for sure.”  
“Do you spend much in Australia?” Caitriona accepted his arm as they stepped over the lip of the sidewalk, her fingers wrapping around the solid warmth of his upperarm.  
“No,” His blond head shook, “Not really. I go back now and then for work, but I haven’t spent more than a few weeks there at a time in while. I’d go back more if I could but, work doesn’t generally co-operate.”  
“And when you’re not working, that’s home then?”  
She knew he’d been born in Australia, she remembered he’d told her that much when she had asked about his accent and she also knew that he had since moved around, spending small pockets of time in various places throughout the world but it made Caitriona wonder, where exactly did Johnathon Chase choose to hang his hat.  
He thought about that a moment, “It was Boston for a couple of years,” his shoulders gave a small shrug as if physically trying to escape that memory,“I had a house there but I’ve sold it and moved so, I guess Australia it is.”  
“I never been to Australia. Well, not really.” Caitriona admitted, “I went there once for a photoshoot, years ago, but I never had time to see anything other than where the work was.”  
“A photoshoot?” Blue eyes met hers as she glanced up at him, one neat blond eyebrow raised, waiting patiently for her to answer. Caitriona swallowed, ducking her head and looking away, choosing instead to focus on the small groups of black cabs and the glimmer of the lights of the hotel in the distance. Partially because those eyes were making the flutter in her stomach more pronounced than she was willing to admit and partially because she was nervous to tell him. Experience had shown her that sometimes just the mention of the word “model” caused a change in how people viewed you. Some people tended to view models as a ditsy, shallow, self-absorbed beings, narcissistic and usually of limited intelligence. Others categorised models as nothing more than value adding status symbols, generally kept around boost to ones ego or worse, a living breathing a cash cow. Add in the phrase, Victoria Secret to the word ‘model’ and that was usually the end of that. Caitriona had been used as a status symbol once, an ego boosting cash cow twice and had dealt with changes of behavior due to the merest mention of her modelling career more times than she could count. Not to mention the effect was worse now that you added Outlander and its success into the mix. It was a downright minefield and almost impossible to navigate without becoming a casualty. It was an experience she wasn’t keen to reproduce. Not again. If it meant she was second guessing herself so be it, but she knew damn well that she was not going to have another relationship like the last one. 

She’d rather be alone. 

She wouldn’t make it through that again.

Still, she reasoned, trying valiantly to put logic in the driver’s seat rather than fear and doubt, there was no use in delaying the inevitable. If Johnathon turned out to be the that type of man to threat her like that then better she found out now. Before it was too late. “It was before I starting acting full time, I went there modelling,” She took a breath and mentally steadied herself,” I modelled professionally for about 10 years actually.”

There. 

She’d said it. Prepare to take cover. It was out there now floating in the air between them. All she had to do was wait of the fallout. The full extent of it wouldn’t be known for a while, Caitriona knew that, not until the party in question had time to google her and her career. History suggested it would take one perhaps two days to reach its peak but there was always some type of initial reaction. Always. Caitriona studied him carefully, waiting for it, hoping it wouldn’t arrive, but half expecting it anyway. The blue eyes blinked calmly at her, “I don’t know how you do that Caitriona.” Johnathon said quietly, then added with a self-deprecating smile, “Photos and camera’s in general scare the living Christ out of me. There is no way I could handle having do what you do. Fronting up to lens all day every day, for hours on end.” His head tilted slightly towards her, his expression serious and sincere, “Terrifying. Not to mention bloody hard work.” Caitriona locked eyes with him, searching. 

Hoping. 

No condescension. No patronizing, or side of the mouth comment. No twitch of a lie in sight. Just an honest acknowledgement of the skill and hard work so often overlooked in her profession. It hadn’t been the reaction she’d been expecting, and it completely derailed her thoughts, the words quietly tilting the seesaw in his favour, answering more of her unasked questions and, she realised for the first time in a very long time, it was the exact reaction she needed. Caitriona didn’t save lives, she didn’t change the world, she didn’t run corporations or rescue people from burning buildings. She was a model and now an actress. Not exactly occupations that are seen as uber professional. For most people that wasn’t a problem, but the older Caitriona got and the harder she worked, part of her yearned for someone, anyone outside her little industry bubble to acknowledge the professionalism behind the pretty face, the endless interviews, the fancy clothes and the hunky co-star. Tony hadn’t, Dave hadn’t and all of the others before and in-between hadn’t. Not even some of her friends.  
Until now. Until him.  
“Careful,” Johnathon’s voice drew her back from her thoughts as he nodded toward a larger puddle of water directly in her path, slick around its edge and a definite hazard for anyone in heels. That would be all she needed, to fall ass over in front of him. Caitriona tightened her grip on his elbow and placed her steps carefully around it, navigating the uneven cobblestones, “Seems like keeping me away from cold bodies of water is becoming a full time job for you.”  
“Nah,” He grinned, drawing his elbow closer in against his side, “Part time at best. Haven’t got enough hours up to be full time yet.”  
Caitriona laughed and they both looked up as an ominous low sound of rolling thunder echo somewhere a long way off to the south, “No wonder your hours are down,” She quipped back at him, “You dropped me at the hospital and that was the last I saw of you.”  
Johnathon ducked his head in acknowledgement, “ I flew out the day after the hospital.”  
“Scared you off did I?” Caitriona said, bumping him slightly with her shoulder as she gripped the railing of the small set of paved stairs the lead from the valet area into the main lobby of the hotel  
“Not quite.” His handsome mouth quirked into a slight smile as they climbed the stairs, “Though I’m sure that little town will never be the same again. Never seen so many people descend on it at once before. Bar did a roaring trade though.”  
“You know,” Caitriona said conversationally as they drew closer to the hotel entrance, “I heard the strangest thing, after you left.”  
Blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he reached forward and pushed open the door, waiting for Caitriona to go ahead, “What’s that?”  
She stepped ahead of him, into the warm hotel lobby. For a moment Caitriona thought about relinquishing Johnathon’s coat, but the clean scent of him that still lingered was enough to push that thought firmly away.  
“That I’d been found by an old hermit mountain man that was barely civilized and only came to town to get a new stock of booze.”  
“Oh really?” He said innocently.  
“Yes. Or at least that was what the locals told anyone who asked. I had the devil’s own time convincing to my sisters that you were in fact nothing like a hybrid mix of an aged Jethro Clampett and Grizzly Adams.”  
Johnathon laughed softly, a pleasant deep sound that immediately seemed to reach out to her pull her in until she found herself smiling broadly along with him, “I’m sure my family thought I was having some type of traumatic memory episode.”  
One eye winked conspiratorially at her and a warm hand pressed against her back, motioning her forward towards the bank of elevators. “If I had of known I’d would have played the part for you. I had a pair of holy jeans and a bit of rope in the truck,” He leaned forward pressed the button, calling for the elevator, “Pair of pliers to yank out a tooth or two.”  
Caitriona chuckled, “I would never have been able to convince them otherwise if you’d done that as well.” She paused as a sharp ding heralded the arrival of the lift and they both stepped inside, “I’ve never witnessed a whole town so completely and so effectively send strangers on a wild goose chase before. It was very impressive.”  
The button of their floor illuminated brightly as Johnathon pressed it, “If it makes you feel any better they did the same to me when I first visited there.” He folded his arms across his chest as he perched on the rail, crossing his long legs at the ankles, “Had a heck of a time tracking down the original owner of the cabin. Took me at least three days to find the actual person and they turned out to be nothing like what had been described to me. They do get better once they get over the stranger danger.”  
“Safe to say they’ve well and truly warmed to you now. How long did that take for them to accept that you weren’t the devil in strangers clothing?”  
Johnathon considered that a moment as the doors opened and they stepped out into very quiet hotel hallway, “I went up there a few weekends on and off for about six months when I first got the cabin and did some work for the owner of the bar, which may helped my cause.” He fell into step beside her as they headed towards Caitriona’s hotel room, “I hadn’t really gone back there until the week before I met you actually.”  
“Well, icy death trap lakes and horrendous storms notwithstanding,” She glanced over at him with a wry smile, “That cabin is in a very beautiful location.”  
Johnathon agreed with a slight nod of his head and tucked his hands into his pockets, “There is something about snow, makes the world seem quieter somehow.”  
“A good place to think?” She asked softly, referring more to her own time there than to the possible reason Johnathon would have been in such a remote place to begin with.  
“It can be,” His voice was low, the beats of humour that had been colouring their conversations dissipating in the silence of the empty corridor. For her, the cabin had been exactly what she’d needed. It had given her time to catch her breath, to steady herself, to able to face the world again and all the problems that went with it.  
Their steps slowed as they neared the hotel room door, drawing to an eventual stop, both falling silent, the air sill and charged around them.  
“Thankyou for dinner Johnathon.” Caitriona said quietly giving her shoulders a slight wiggle, slipping his jacket off and offering back to him on an outstretched hand, “I had a wonderful time.”  
He took the jacket from her, slinging it over his forearm then she saw him take a small step towards her, closing the distance between them, deep blue eyes locking with hers, standing close enough she could smell the scent of him, that intoxicating mix of cologne and something deeper it was just him.  
“Maybe we can do this again some time?” His voice was soft and deep and almost flowed like honey down through her hearing, his face decorated with that smile, the one that seemed to make her heart speed up, stomach flutter and derail every intelligent thought she had.  
“I’d like that Johnathon.” She said, hoping her brain was up to such a simple sentence given its present state. For the briefest moment Caitriona watched as a flicker of relief drift over his handsome face. In that moment she realised he was as nervous as she was. She decided to take that as a good sign that maybe this time, her instincts would be right.  
“Really?” Johnathon said his voice barely a whisper, leaning his upper body towards her, his mouth drifting tantalisingly close to hers, his breathe warm against her face.  
She didn’t answer him, she didn’t trust that any words coming out of her mouth would be anything close to coherent. Instead, she held his gaze, nodded slowly and took a small breath. Throwing caution to the wind, Caitriona lifted her chin, angled her mouth towards his and closed her eyes. 

God, please let her instincts be right.


	16. Begin

She pressed her hand against the solid frame of the door, closing it with a soft click, a smile gracing her features, quietly letting the feelings of the moment wash over her. Caitriona been expecting Johnathon to try and kiss her. Expecting it and what was more, wanting it. In fact, she’d wanted him for a large portion of the evening. It was hard to describe, she mused, that feeling of complete anticipation in the moments before you give yourself over, let go and take one small chance. Her heart had been fairly pounding in throat as he'd leaned in. Anticipation fell way, replaced with a soft internal sigh of contentment, floating on the wave of pleasure as his warm lips covered hers. It had been everything she had been expecting and then some. Insistent without demand, gentle yet confident, with a quiet assurity that trickled down through every nerve, every pulse of blood, tingling to the very tips of her toes and a whole bunch of other places in between. Caitriona could almost still feel him, the pressure of his mouth on hers, the scent of him, the solidness of him as she’d leaned into him. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. There was definitely something about him, something she couldn’t put her finger on, that seemed to slip past her well-constructed defenses, hitting deep in her belly, the feeling so thoroughly appealing and yet strangely foreign that Caitriona almost didn’t know what to make of it. Yes. There was no denying he was good looking in all the right places. Boy, was he ever, but Christ, she was far from being a damn teenager anymore and this certainly wasn’t the first time someone had caught her eye. No, she decided, it went further than the pure physicality of him. Sitting there across from him, talking with him, listening to the lilt of his accent and deep tone of his voice, hearing the intelligence behind the words, laughing along with his good natured humour had made for the perfect evening. She couldn’t have written a better night out if she’d tried. With Tony she had tried, time and time again to no avail. With Johnathon, she hadn't needed to. 

Caitriona pushed off the door and lifted one long leg, undoing the strap around her heel and then the other. She flicked her shoes into a heap under the luggage rack, then sat down on the edge of the bed. Caitriona was so used to being the instigator of evenings like this. Always on guard, always trying, always striving to get to any place that felt better than where she was.  In the process, she'd forgotten what it felt like to be relaxed, to be happy and content. She debated with herself, if the reason tonight had gone as well as it did was because it had been a good while since she’d felt anything remotely resembling romantic intention or even physical attraction and now that she had, was over reacting to it. Or was this something different entirely. She'd never been one to believe in the instant, fall head of heels thing that people spoke of. Lust yes. Love no. That had to be what this was. Lust. Caitriona gave a small shrug of reflection. Maybe all these feelings were just the result of the exceptionally good wine she’d consumed at the restaurant.  Had to be it. There was simply no other explanation. It had to be wine that was making her traitorous body want to reach out for Johnathon Chase, drag him inside the hotel room and do things highly inappropriate for first dates or catch up dinners or whatever the hell she wanted to call it. Caitriona never been a fan of the one night stand, or for that matter, she wasn’t generally one to be jumping into bed on the first date. In her opinion, the physical act of sex was far too intimate to be taken so casually. That didn’t mean that she had made mistakes and fallen down the one night stand rabbit hole once or twice before. She had and like so many of her past mistakes, Caitriona was at a point in her life where it was time to learn from them, rather than repeating them. Without warning, several images flashed through her mind's eye. Images of a certain tall, blond haired, blue eyed man with that smile, performing actions entirely suited to a one night stand. “I really need to stop drinking wine.” She murmured and blew out another long breath, as she fell back onto the bed’s soft surface and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes drifted shut, of course, her body wasn’t always on the same page as her usually far more disciplined mind. Case in point, the small traces of fire that still tingled in her blood from a simple kiss. She rested a hand on the flat plane of her stomach. A kiss and the promise of another outing together. Caitriona could hardly get the words out fast enough when Johnathon had quietly asked her if she was free tomorrow. In answering him, she had stuttered slightly, another uncharacteristic another side effect of the evening’s events that she decided blame on the evil wine intoxicant. Johnathon continually flashing her that smile, the one that he had no business making when people, namely her, were desperately trying to control themselves, hadn’t helped the situation. In an half-hearted last ditch effort to distract herself from the myriad of thoughts that were rapidly making her rethink her no sex on first date rules and the more recently developed, take it slow rule, Caitriona had suggested that she show Johnathon around some of the city sights. Her mouth twitched into a broad smile. It was a suggestion she was particularly proud of because, one, it would mean she would get to spend the entire day with him and two, she was hoping that the day would just drift on through into the evening.  Johnathon had instantly agreed, adding in his own suggestion that since he had a car that he’d be happy to act as chauffeur for the day.

The idea was a good one, Caitriona mused as she hauled herself up off the bed and headed to the bathroom. She didn’t relish the thought of having to use public transport on a date. The transport part she wasn’t overly worried about. There were a lot of places they could simply walk to, or at worst take a cab. It was the public part Caitriona was concerned about. She slipped out of her dress, hanging it carefully on a hook and stepped into the shower. The last thing she needed was for a well-meaning fan to post a picture of her out on a date. Granted, the chance of that happening were slim. Caitriona had yet to be the target of the intrusive paparazzi attention that was the hallmark of her profession, but with Outlander on the rise, so was her public profile. She’d seen first hand the fallout when Sam had recently been snapped with his arm around a young blonde woman that he’d been casually seeing. Caitriona had genuinely felt bad for the poor woman. Once the Internet had gotten hold of the picture, all hell had broken loose. Caitriona turned on the tap and let the hot water run over her skin. It had turned out to be a bit of a storm in a teacup in the end. The young woman in question had moved on and so had Sam, but still, it had caused quite a few people their share of angst until the storm had blown over. Whether Caitriona wanted to or not, she had to be more situationally aware. The knock on effect of that requirement had been that she tended to guard her private life very carefully. To her great chagrin, she had accept the fact that there were literally cameras everywhere. Every person on the street, every person in a restaurant, every person in a shop, hell, even people inside the hotel. They all had phones, they all had cameras. Just one click away from a social media shit storm that could potentially end ones career. It was strange she mused as she turned off the shower and gathered up her long hair, twisting the dark strands to wring out the excess water, to have spent a lifetime in front of the camera as a model and to now be strangely wary of exactly that situation. She wrapped a towel around herself, tucking the ends in and returning to the main room,  While she wasn’t the type of person to sit back and let fear dictate her life, she also had no desire to make any situation harder than it had to be. Hence, the idea of a quiet, somewhat secluded private car ride with Johnathon was even more appealing than it ordinarily might have been.Opening the small fridge, she bent and retrieved a bottle of water. Snapping the lid open, Caitriona took a healthy swallow before going on the hunt for her pill. She was still fossicking through the travel kit when a loud buzzing sound drew her attention. Dark brows furrowed in concentration, wondering who on earth would be calling her this late at night. She found the offending object in her clutch, where it had been all night, completely neglected for far more interesting subject matter. Long fingers flicked across the screen. One notification. Probably some stupid tweet that Sam had decided to post and tag her in. Caitriona’s eyes widened and her stomach dropped.“Shit.”

There, written in neat text was a reminder for a catch up breakfast with some modelling friends at 7:00 in the morning. “Fuck.” She cursed again, the gravity of the situation hitting her. This was not just a serious problem to her plans for tomorrow but also for the fact that the arranged time was for 7 am. To make matters worse, she’d already cancelled on the friends in question at least twice before due to her work schedule. There was no way she could cancel a third time. Particularly not to go on a date. It wouldn’t be right and Caitriona couldn’t in good conscience do that to them. Even if she wanted to, she just couldn’t. On the other hand, Caitriona didn’t want to do that to Johnathon either. How had she not remembered this? She lifted a hand and rubbed her forehead, foggy from a mixture of alcohol and tiredness. Oh she knew how alright. The charm, the eyes, the deep voice and that smile was how. She tossed the phone on the bed and began to pace back and forth across the room, a curious habit of hers that she found strangely therapeutic when she was trying to unravel the threads of a problem. Caitriona let out a long sigh, coming to a stop and staring out the large window across the city skyline. There was nothing else for it, she scowled. She would simply have to cancel the date with Johnathon, or at the very least change it. Now that she thought about it, Caitriona did seem to recall organising to have breakfast and then shopping a few months back but she was reasonably certain that she hadn’t agreed to anything after that. Traditionally, Caitriona hesitated, shopping usually implied lunch as well, but, perhaps with some slick maneuvering, she could be done by early afternoon. It wouldn’t be the full day she’d hoped for, but at least part of the day with Johnathon might be salvageable and, Caitriona smiled slightly, there was always the evening if she played her cards right.

  
Caitriona gave her head a small nod, feeling somewhat pleased with herself that she'd found a workable solution. It wasn’t perfect but with the luck of the Irish, it would be doable. She started back towards the bed. She’d just text Johnathon and tell him and everything would be fine. She was almost within reaching distance of her phone when the second anvil of the evening fell from the sky, smacking her square between the eyes. “For fuck’s sake.” She spat, realising that she didn't have his number and knowing full well that he didn’t have hers either. She hadn’t even thought to get his number. Caitriona had been so wrapped up in the evening that she’d completely forgotten to give him hers. “Well done Caitriona,” She growled, crossing her arms across her chest and considering the new complexities of her situation. She’d meant to give it to him before he’d left her for the evening but, well, things, namely his lips on her, had taken place that had completely robbed her of sanity, or so it appeared now. Her own number was silent and unlisted. It would make it nearly impossible for Johnathon to find it using traditional means. When she didn’t show up in the morning, he would try and contact her which would prove to be impossible which would in turn lead him to think the worst. That she'd lead him on and that she didn't want this. They had planned to meet in the hotel lobby at 9 AM. By 9 AM she’d be miles away, having breakfast with her friends at small cafe that they had a history of eating at for get-togethers like this.

So what now? Caitriona shrugged mentally perusing her list of available options. She could always call the front desk. Caitriona knew Johnathon was on this floor of the hotel, she just wasn’t exactly sure which room he was in. She pressed off the windowsill she had been leaning on and lifted the handset of the hotel phone. Dialling the front desk, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Front Desk. How may I help you.” A young girl’s voice issued rather cheerfully over the phone.  
“Hi, This is Caitriona Balfe in room 1512. I was wondering if you could connect me to Mr Johnathon Chase’s room please.”  
“One moment Ms Balfe.” The feint sound of fingernails on keyboard could be heard over the line for several long moments, “I’m sorry Ms Balfe, did you say Johnathon Chase?”  
“That’s right. Johnathon Chase. I’m not sure of his room number, but he is on this floor. Floor 15.”

Further keystrokes filled the short silence.“I’m sorry Ms Balfe. There is no record of a Johnathon Chase having checked in with us.”  
“Are you absolutely sure? I was only speaking to him half an hour ago. Can you check again please?”  
“Of course Ma’am.”  
The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as the clerk checked the records one more time. One hand fell to rest on her stomach, a chill feeling settling there without her permission. Caitriona’s brow wrinkled in confusion. How can there be no record for Johnathan Chase in the hotel? She’d just been kissing him half an hour ago outside of her hotel room door for goodness sake. This had to be some kind of mistake. Her mind was beginning to race in a thousand directions at once. Caitriona thought back to their time in the cabin and to their time together tonight. She had perceived every action from Johnathon to have been honest, honourable and true. This just didn't mane any sense. Surely not. This had to be a mistake.  
“I’m sorry Ms Balfe, we have no record of a Johnathan Chase in the hotel.”  
“Are you absolutely certain?” Caitriona asked, feeling sick, her voice a mixture of confusion and anxiety. Was this going to end up being another horrendous exercise stupidity or worse?

“Can I just put you on hold while I check?”

“Yes.” She said softly. Caitriona didn’t want to think the worst. Really she didn’t, but the longer it took for an answer to arrive, the harder it was becoming.  Every instinct in her body had all but screamed at her that he wasn’t like that. He couldn't be like that. The look in his eyes, the gentle caring nature, the courteous almost chivalrous actions towards her, none of it seemed deceptive. And yet that small voice, buried right down deep inside her, in that place where her darkest insecurities lay, was bleating out its warning that she was only going to get hurt again. Could she really be this atrocious at judging character? History told her yes. The bruising had barely faded from the last emotional battering. Caitriona wasn’t certain of one thing, she wasn't strong enough for another one just yet. She tried to hald the train of doubt, standing on the brakes as hard as she dared. It had to be a mistake. This is what happens when you don’t follow you own damn rules, her mind warned, you get used and lied to. Caitriona scrubbed a hand across her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose, “Jesus, get a grip Balfe.” She breathed. She was jumping to conclusions over nothing and she knew it. She even knew where it was coming from, that place where a litany of bad decisions had almost ruined her. She knew it and was desperately trying to fight i, she just wasn't sure if she was succeeding. 

“Miss Balfe?”

“Yes?” Her voice was barely audible, even in the stillness of her hotel room.

“Please accept my apologies. Mr Chase is part of a group checked in under a company name, his name didn’t appear on our normal initial search.” It took Caitriona several long heartbeats to comprehend what the woman had said, an immense wave of relief washing over her, sweeping the negative thoughts back into their dark corners. A mistake. It had been a mistake. “I can connect you to Room 1536 now,” The woman was saying, “Or you can directly dial from your room phone if you prefer?”

 “Room 1536?”

“That’s right Ms Balfe.” The woman confirmed, “Instructions are beside the handset should you require assistance.”

“Thank-you.” Caitriona had already decided that she would call him herself, in a few moments, when she didn’t feel like such an idiot for having jumped to conclusions over nothing but a simple clerical error. “Bloody wine.” She growled and pushed off the bed, walking over to her suitcase and yanking out a pair of long legged pyjamas. Part of her felt like walking down the corridor, finding Johnathon’s door and just falling back into that warm, soft gentle place that she’d been reveling in earlier in the night and another part of her was angry at herself for letting the past cause her to doubt someone. She stepped into the pajama pants tying the drawstring in a large loop and slipping into an old T-shirt, steadily trying to put the uncertainty of the last few minutes out her mind, choosing instead, to focus on far more interesting subjects. Johnathon Chase. He had made her smile, laugh, had listened to her, made her feel important, valued and more importantly, he’d made her feel like something other than an accessory. Her past couldn't compete with that. Yes, Caitriona decided, blowing out a long breath as she padded over to the bed and sat down on its edge. If nothing else, her instincts had at least been right about that.  She reached out and dialed the number of Johnathon's room. It took four long rings before his voice sounded over the line, deep and husky with sleep, a sound that slid down through her hearing, warming a place deep in her belly.

“Chase.”

“Johnathon?” She hesitated a moment, hearing the soft scuffling of bedding, “It’s Caitriona.”

“Caitriona. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine, well not fine fine but, “ She closed her eyes, wincing at the absolute dog’s breakfast she was making of this conversation, “I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to cancel on our plans for tomorrow.”

 There was a momentary pause on the other end of the line, “ “That’s alright. We can meet up some other time when I..”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s not..” Caitriona interrupted,then stopped and gathered her thoughts, “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want to, it’s just that I have a prearranged meet up with friends that I totally forgot about and I can’t get out of." She waited a beat, "I’m sorry Johnathon.”

“It’s okay Caitriona.” , “Don’t let it worry you.” His voice was gentle and understanding, “These things happen. It’s okay. Really.”

“I’m hoping to be finished by three o’clock at the absolute latest, if you’re still interested in that city tour I promised you?” Caitriona was suddenly aware of her increased heart rate beating somewhere just below the surface of her skin. She was hoping that he hadn’t misconstrued her given reason as an excuse. She wanted to see him. The one time in an age that she actually wanted something like this, she seemed incapable of getting it.

“Tell you what," Johnathon's voice interrupted her self flagellation, "Why don’t I meet you somewhere when you’re free?”

A brilliant smile split her face and she let out the breath she didn’t even realise she was holding, “That sounds like a wonderful idea Johnathon.”

Caitriona heard him take of breath and clear his throat,“Great,” She wasn’t sure, but she thought she could hear a smile behind his words, “because I’d really like to see you again Caitriona.”  

"I'd like that." Her voice sounded small to her, as she let the words act like a salve on her soul, soothing the sting of all her doubts and fears and banishing them to their dark corners at least for a little.“Can I give you my number in case I get finished earlier?” She said quietly, determined to not forget that this time around. She waited for him to gather up his own phone and then quietly dictated the number. Caitriona barely finished saying the last digit when the phone in her hand vibrated with an incoming message. It was Johnathon's number, along with a photograph his business card, the text clearly revealing his name, his post-nominal initials, the name of the company he worked for, his business email address and not one, but two contact numbers. One being the number she now had and one landline number obviously linking to the office of his business.  Any concerns she might have had as to the validity of his identity were now a distant memory, replaced only with the pleasant anticipation of what tomorrow might bring.

“Did I get the number right or did some random person get a very strange text message in the night?” 

“Yes, you got it right.” She replied with a soft chuckle, “I’ll call you as soon as I’m finished.”

“Sounds great.” A small silence fell, neither of them wanting to hang up the phone and both of them knowing they really should, “Well,” Johnathon finally said, “I’d better let you get some sleep then." His voice seemed to dropped a register,"Good night Caitriona.”

“Good night Johnathon.” She set the receiver back into the cradle with a click. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone ask to spend time with her for no other reason than they wanted to. It was worth fighting for, worth trying for. The past be damned.

 She flopped back onto the surface of the bed, a broad smile still decorating her features.

Tomorrow, or rather today as the late hour seemed to indicate, is another day and for once, Caitriona couldn’t wait for it to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure I am happy with this chapter, but I didn't want to go back on my word and not post at least every fortnight.  
> Posting time will always be Friday's 6 pm - Australian Eastern Standard Time for anyone wondering.  
> Next Up - Johnathon POV and some problems for him :)  
> Cheers to you all and a huge thank-you to everyone who encourages with kudos and comments and anyone who has been reading this story.


	17. Who and Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair bit of Johnathon information and the odd breadcrumb or two. Don't fret. I'll put them back together after Caitriona get's her shopping thing done :)

“Oh Jesus Christ.” Jackson pulled the chair out slowly, trying with infinite care not to produce any more noise than absolutely necessary, “Coffee.” He croaked “I need coffee.” He held his aching head in both hands, elbows resting on the table, looking the perfect picture of a very hungover individual. Johnathon looked up from the paper he was reading and tried hard not to laugh, instead he pushed a tall glass of ice water across the table, “That will work far more effectively.”  
“The fuck it will.” The dark haired man grumbled, holding up a hand and gesturing to stop, wincing at the movement and the sickening feeling of vertigo that came with it, “I will never understand how you exist without coffee.” ,  
Johnathon smirked, “Maybe if you didn’t wipe yourself out, you wouldn’t need a substance that looks like motor oil and doesn’t taste much better.” Jackson grunted his objection, for him, coffee ranked somewhere between air and food on the items deemed necessary for human life. Two large coffees later, Jackson slumped back against the back of the chair, the second cup still cradled between his hands as he nodded towards the stack of reports resting in Johnathon’s hand, “Please tell me you didn’t work on those all night. We’re in London.” He took another mouthful of the life giving liquid, “City love and all that. Far better things to do than spend every second working on cases you know.”  
“That’s Paris by the way.” Johnathon corrected without looking up, “I take it you had a good night after you got those reports done?”  
Jackson scowled at the bright sunlight, then grimaced and lowered a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, “It was spectacular if you must know,” He sipped the bitter brew letting it work its magic, “She was spectacular come to think of it. “ He swallowed and added ,”And yes, the reports are done. Sealed, and filed.” Jackson leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs at the ankles and flicking a smile at one of the waitresses before turning his attention back to his table mate, “I’ll take your lack of response as a yes by the way. Reports all night make for a very boring evening my friend. You know what they say, all work and no play..”  
“Actually,” Johnathon said casually as he picked up his own glass of water and sipped it thoughtfully, “I had myself a good night thank you very much.” Jackson’s cup stopped half way to his mouth, a look of astonishment on his face, “I got myself at least four hours sleep.” Johnathan deadpanned, struggling to keep the smirk off his face. In reality, it was more like 2 hours of sleep and half of that time had been spent contemplating the night’s events and Caitriona. He’d been almost asleep when she had called, but he had more than welcomed the chance to speak to her again. She’d made him feel relaxed, intrigued, amused and as cliched as it sounded in his head, it had all just felt right. He wasn’t quite sure whether to put that down to just a case of him being so used to everything feeling wrong or not. The whole night, the way he felt about it, everything, was turning out to be more than a little unexpected. That feeling had started when he had surprised himself by asking her out for a catch-up dinner in the first place. It had been the last thing he’d thought he would be doing on this trip to London or any trip for that matter. Johnathon hadn't been looking for, or even thinking about looking for, any romantic interaction whatsoever. And yet here he was, filled with a quiet anticipation and looking forward to the next date. Johnathan, however, wasn’t about to share that information with his friend just yet.  
“See that right there,” Jackson pointed an accusatory finger at Johnathan before attacking his third cup of coffee, “Is not a statistic to be proud of.” Jackson frequently worried about the man that was not only his boss, but his best friend. A best friend that Jackson considered to be his family. The whole business with Katherine last year had ruined Johnathon and he had watched the carnage take place, in real time. He had hated seeing his friend struggle, however privately, with that hurt that a broken relationship brings. Jackson, himself, wasn't entirely immune to such events but he'd never been in any type of overly committed relationship. He'd had his fair share of good kicks in the guts when things hadn't quite gone the way he though they would but nothing on the level that Johnathon had be battling with. It was a good reason to avoid any type of serious relationship, Jackson reasoned, but that philosophy didn't preclude something slightly more casual. “You need to get out and about John." He added another good helping of sugar to the bitter brew,"Seriously.” In response, Johnathon shot him a dark look causing the dark-haired man to lift one hand in supplication, “Fine.” Jackson huffed, “Just tell me you’ll at least think about it sometime? Soon?” He added, having been trying for months to snap Johnathon out of his melancholic mood that he’d fallen into after the breakup late last year. He’d tried a variety of strategies and suggestions to get his friend back out there, back to the land of the living as it were. So far Johnathon had resisted every all of it, preferring instead some self-imposed solitude surrounded only by work. Jackson wasn’t trying to be pushy but in his experience the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else, a strategy he himself had employed many times.  
“Uh huh.” Johnathon gave up on the conversation, having heard most of it more than a few times before and went back to studying the case that was scattered on the table.  
“No really. You should.” Jackson continued as he adjusted his sunglasses into a more comfortable position, trying valiantly to keep the light out of his eyes, “You don’t know what you’re missing.” Jackson cast a gaze over the room occupants, smiling at a group of three attractive women who were sitting on around a tall table the foyer of the lobby, obviously waiting for someone. Two of them smiled back at him. Jackson lifted his coffee cup in silent salute and raised a dark eyebrow at one of the women, “See, now that,” He smiled at the woman, “is what I am talking about. World would be a very dull place without them.”  
Johnathon looked up from his case report at the group in question, flicking them a quick glance, then returned to reading his report, finding the typed police interview far more interesting than anything currently surrounding that table. “Do you ever stop?” He said with a disapproving shake of his fair head, not wanting to engage in this particular conversation but at this point he knew it was probably the only way to get Jackson shut up about it and move on.  
“No.” Jackson sipped his coffee, “Not generally.” He gave the woman a small wave, “I mean what is not to li…” Jackson stopped midsentence. Not expecting his strategy for silencing Jackson to have worked so effectively or so quickly, Johnathon turned his head, following the line of Jackson’s gaze towards whatever was currently the centre of his attention. Caitriona, dressed simply in jeans and button up shirt and a leather jacket was walking casually towards the group of women. “ Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” Jackson commented to noone in particular.

Johnathon lost track of whatever Jackson was saying. If he had any doubt before, he certainly had none now. Caitriona was utterly breathe taking. He’d thought so last night, when he’d first laid eyes on her as she had walked out of the elevator. Now, he swallowed reflexively, she had upped the ante by at a least a factor to ten. His head generally didn’t get turned easily, but this was something else. She was something else. Johnathon watched her a moment longer as she greeted her friends and then left the hotel, the group heading outside, presumably to wait for a taxi.  
Jackson swivelled in his chair and turned back to face his friend, “So what important case is that anyway?” He waited for an answer, surprised to see his normally nonplussed partner still watching the last glimpses of tall dark haired beauty, a strange look on his face. It only lasted for a moment before Johnathon blinked and the expression faded, his gaze dropping back to the paper in his hand.

“What?,” Johnathon asked quickly, “Oh, the case,” rather uncharacteristically flustered, he promptly answered his own question, “It’s that cold child abduction case from Met Pol that they wanted us to take a look at.”

Jackson took a long swallow, “So,” He eyed the blond man over the rim of his cup, privately debating whether to continue flogging this dead horse or not. In for a penny, “About getting out and about?” 

Thankfully Johnathon didn’t have to answer him, his phone on the table began to vibrate with an incoming call. “Chase.” He answered simply, listening intently to the information being relayed. Jackson finished off yet another cup of coffee and dugout pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, setting them on the table while he waited for Johnathon to finish. “No.” Johnathon said after a few minutes, “I’ll be right over.”

“Trouble?” Judging from the look of Johnathon’s face it wasn’t good news.

Johnathon began gathering up the papers on the table into an orderly stack, “A bit. I’m not entirely sure just yet.” He said quietly, shuffling the leaves together and closing the plain coloured folder around them, “I need to see McGovern.”

McGovern and Sons were a small law firm that had looked after Johnathon’s personal affairs for as long as Jackson had known the blond man. “About?” Jackson asked pushing back his own chair and gathering up his belongings, wondering exactly what news it was that it changed his friend’s demeanour so quickly.

Concerned blue eyes met his, “Wakeling.”

Fuck. That’ll do it. If there was one name that Johnathon could go the rest of his life without hearing, Jackson knew it was Bryant Wakeling. 

Johnathon stood, tucking his phone into his back pocket and slipping into his jacket, “Can you hold things down here for a bit?” He asked as he reached up and turned his collar down, “I need to go and sort this out.”

“Course.” Jackson fell in step beside Johnathon as they both walked back out into the lobby, “It’s a take it easy day today anyway so there should any problems.”

The team had finished their current case load and were due to fly out to Australia in just under 24 hours time, so for once, they actually had some downtime. “Call me there if anything comes up.” The button illuminated as Johnathon pressed it, requesting the elevator to take him to the car park below, “This shouldn’t take too long. Something about a parole screw up.”

“Parole?” Jackson’s brows drew in, “Wakeling shouldn’t even be due for parole for at least another what, six or seven years?”

“Keyword. Shouldn’t.” Johnathon dug around in his coat pocket for the car keys, “Until I know what’s going on, just hold things down here. If anything needs to change I’ll call you.”

“Righto,” Jackson selected a cigarette from the open packet, clamping it unlit in the corner of his mouth, “And you call us if you need to yeah?” He wasn’t exactly sure what Johnathon would be dealing with but in any case he’d be there if his friend needed it.

Johnathon gave him a final nod and stepped inside the empty elevator, “Will do.” The doors closed and Johnathon leaned back on the railing, his thoughts the only company in the quiet space. He let out a long breath. He’d spent half his life haunted by the name Bryant Wakeling. It had taken him three long years to track Wakeling down and another four years after that to finally secure conviction. The parking bay was relatively empty, the dull orange light of the indicators blinking as he keyed the door entry and slid into the comfortable driver’s seat.

Of all the days, it had to be today. He had honestly been looking forward to spending the day with Caitriona. Between Caitriona’s earlier forgotten appointment and now this, Johnathon was beginning to wonder if the universe was conspiring against him. He stirred the engine into life and navigated his way out of the car park and onto the streets of London. At least it was still early, Johnathon mused, the traffic wasn’t as bad as he expected and the short drive would give him time to get his thoughts together.

Had it really been five years already? Five years since justice had finally swung in favour of the innocent. A Life sentence imposed for a horrendous crime. Johnathon had hoped, perhaps naively, that would be the last time he would ever have to deal with Wakeling. He’d spent hours upon hours, researching, gathering evidence, overseeing every last detail of the case, making sure there was zero room for error. He’d done his job well, excelled at it even, making sure every box was ticked, every T was crossed. It was more than a little confusing to him now something somewhere had evidently gone wrong and allowed Wakeling to somehow initiate the process of an appeal.  

Johnathon swung off the main road into a small car park and headed towards the office entryway. The law firm’s office was modest, slightly deceptive to the casual observer. Despite outward appearances, the business was in fact a highly successful, though relatively small firm, that suited Johnathon’s needs perfectly. Over the years, it had steadily grown to have offices in Sydney, New York and now London and more importantly, it had partnership personnel that Johnathon trusted implicitly. A trust that had been a lifetime in the making. Johnathon had first met Charles McGovern, the most senior of the McGovern partners, almost 20 years ago, when as a young boy, he had walked into the Sydney law firm, straight off the street, a bag full of loose notes and coins and asked to see a lawyer. Johnathon wasn’t sure if they’d taken pity on him when they’d let him in but, Charles McGovern, who had seemed old to Johnathon even back then, had ushered him into his office and for the first time in his life, someone had listened seriously to what he’d had to say. From that point on the McGovern’s had handled all of his legal matters. Johnathon pulled open the glass door and strode down the hallway towards the reception desk, where he was politely ushered into a large conference room.

“Johnathon.” A tall dark haired man, a year or so younger than he greeted him with an outstretched hand and a broad smile, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Finn.” Johnathon acknowledged the man with a slight nod and a firm shake of his hand. He had wondered which of the six children Charlie would nominate to run the London office. Seems Finn McGovern, second youngest of the brood had drawn the short straw, “Been a bit of a while hasn’t it?” Johnathon asked as they sat down around the large clear glass conference table.

“Too long mate.” The lawyer reached across the table and grabbed a clear plastic folder, “Wish it was under better circumstances though.” He opened the folder and pushed several documents towards Johnathon. “Seems our friend Wakeling had been putting his time in prison to good use.”

Johnathon’s eyes flicked over the page. It was an appeal application, clearly written by a skilled Silk at one of the more prestigious law firms in London, though not one that Johnathon had any dealings with, either personally or through his work. It was detailed, articulate and extensive. Not your usual convicted felon attempt at proclaiming their innocence and injustice to the world. This was a serious attempt at an appeal and it raised an equally as serious question. “Do we know how he is managing to fund this? Silks like this do not come cheap.”

“That’s just it and the reason I thought I’d call you in.” Finn explained, “The appeal is nothing we can’t handle. We will counter it, put in our own objections and be more than ready, when and if, it actually goes anywhere. But, Johnathon, I think we’ve got bigger issues here. A silk like that runs at least £5000 an hour and I already checked, they are not doing this pro bono.”

Johnathon shot him a surprised look. He’d been expecting this to have been someone's charity case, probably done for tax purposes. It was very unusual for any Silk to take on a dead end case, particularly one they had little chance of winning, and certainly not when that case wasn't for a paying client. It just wasn’t a good reputation exercise and even worse for the bottom line. Both of which held considerable weight in the legal profession.  Reputation meant business and business meant reputation. Neither commodity was worth mucking around with for a prosecutorial slam dunk.

“Seems Wakeling has a benefactor.” Finn continued, picking a silver a pen from the table. A very wealthy one, Johnathon's mind added. For appeal like this looking at a minimum of £1 million and that’s estimating on the low side. "I had Angus and his team do some quiet investigation. Whoever is funding this, is funneling money through the law firm anonymously." 

That meant it could be anyone number of a firm's thousands of clients. There was no easy way to tell where the money is coming from and legally, the law firm didn't have to disclose that detail, they only had to disclose the totals coming in and out going out, which, according to the paperwork in Johnathon's hands, they have done. Granted, it was slightly shady, but not entirely illegal. Johnathon considered that a moment, “See if Angus can keep investigating find out who exactly wants Wakeling out of prison badly enough to spend £1 million on that piece of shit.”

Finn scrawled some notes on a legal pad yet sitting in front of him, “I’ll take care of that and have Angus send a copy of all reports through to you?”

Johnathon nodded and steepled his hands, resting his chin on this fingertips, “Follow this one carefully. The last thing I want is for this guy to get out and scrape by on a technicality.”

The lawyer pushed another sheet of paper towards the blond man, “There’s something else I think you should take a look at.”  

Johnathon raised an eyebrow, privately wondering what else the universe had in mind to toss in his direction today. So much for a day off with Caitriona.

“Someone has been buying up stocks. A significant amount of them, across seven different companies. Only small, relatively new acquisitions but every single one, a listed ECA subsidiaries." Finn stood, gripping on the back of the conference room chair, "And that’s not the end of it. Someone has put through 15 freedom of information applications requesting majority owner and founder identity of ECA.”

“That’s not unusual." Johnathon commented calmly,"ECA gets their fair share of these type of requests every year.”

“CEO’s and COO’s yes, of all subsidiaries,” Finn gave a warning glance of his own to his friend and client, “but not ECA’s single controlling owner.” It had been the task of the firm for past fifteen years to keep the identity of the owner of the multi-industry parent company as private as possible within the bounds of the law. They weren’t always successful but for the most part, that privacy has been preserved. “There is something about these that just don’t sit right.” Finn gave voice to his worry, “ For a start, the requests are coming from a variety of different agencies and different investigation firms from the UK, from the US, even directly from Australia. Thus far, the events of them with the standard information requested as required by the law, but I just have a funny feeling about these Johnathon.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “I don’t think these are your normal information digging from journos or business insiders. I think this is someone is looking for confirmation about information they may already have.” He hated to ask, having known about the recent relationship breakdown from the sale of property documents his office had handled, but he thought it prudent to go there never the less. “Is there,” He paused, trying to think of how to delicately phrase the question, “Is there anyway that perhaps Katherine has –“

“No.” The answer was instant, certain.

“You did tel -”

“Yes.” 

“Then it is possible that she, given all that happened,” He tried to carefully clarify, fully aware of the dangerous line he was walking, “ that she -“

“No.” 

"Johnathon are you sure about this?"

Blue eyes met his squarely, “Yes." The tone left no doubt in Finn’s mind whatsoever that this subject was now closed, off the table, locked in a filing cabinet and buried in concrete vault beneath someone’s house. 

"Alright." Finn conceded defeat, though privately, was quite as convinced. It wouldn’t be the first time in history that a someone had done something stupid in an angry reaction to a relationship breakdown, heartbreak always had the potential to turn something sweet into something extraordinarily bitter. He only hoped that Johnathon had a clear head on this. It would save them all a lot of work if the fault really did lay where Finn suspected it did. "Have you got time now, to sort through some of this? Or should we reschedule?"

"No." Johnathon said, letting out a long deep resigned breath. He hadn't meant to be short with Finn, he just wasn't prepared to entertain the possibility that Kate would stoop so low as to try something like was being suggested here. That also meant he now felt more than obligated to at least find a new starting point for Finn and his team to start searching for this needle in the proverbial business haystack."Show me all of it now." He said, standing and shucking out of his jacket, hanging it across the back of the chair, “Start at the start,” Johnathon sat back down again and motioned towards the pile of papers. Any ideas Johnathon had of this being a quick meeting had just disappeared like mist in the warm morning sun. He glanced at his watch. Caitriona had said she’d be done by 3. That gave him, he watched Finn sitting across the table already thumbing through some business reports. Gave them, Johnathon mentally corrected, six hours find what they needed.

Find the who.

Then, find the why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up - Caitriona, some old heartbreaks and maybe a little bit of a dance.


	18. The Good with the Bad

Caitriona took the steps two at a time, carefully weaving and dodging her way through the slightly crowded entranceway to the circular viewing gallery beyond. She hadn’t meant to be this late, but despite her best efforts to subtly hurry her friends along, shopping had taken far longer than she anticipated. It was well past the time she thought she’d be finished and even though she’d sent several texts to Johnathon throughout the day advising him of her progress, or lack thereof, she still felt bad about the enforced delay. Johnathon had been more than excepting of her reasons, and had reassured her after each and every one of her apologetic texts, that it was okay, but still, Caitriona couldn’t help but worry that she was inadvertently sending all the wrong signals when, for the first time in a long time, she was trying to send exactly the right ones. Any ideas she might have had about spending the afternoon meandering along through quiet hallways of the museum, looking at exhibits, something she generally found highly enjoyable even without the bonus of having Johnathon by her side, were now nothing but a distant dream. She’d left it too late. Her steps halted in front of the souvenir shop. Swiveling at the waist, Caitriona scanned the slow streams of people gradually making their way towards the exits. Pulling out her phone, she sent another text to Johnathon, letting him know her exact whereabouts in the large building, hoping rather optimistically, that it might help them locate each other quicker. She was about to send another when a deep voice sounded behind her, “Caitriona.”  
She turned to find the object of her searching closing the last steps between them. He looked good, she mused, he looked very good. Dressed in a dark jeans and navy button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearm, the top button undone just enough to be interesting. She didn’t know what it was about that man that made her mouth crease into a smile, without her permission and with staggering frequency whenever the blond man happened to be in her presence. Caitriona wasn’t entirely sure she understood why, but she was one hundred percent sure she liked it. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” She apologised for what seemed like the fiftieth time that day, dropping her phone back into her coat pocket and angling her face up towards his, breathing in the scent of him as he drew near.  
“That’s alright." He said as he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, "My meeting went longer than it should have. I only just got here myself.” Johnathon smiled softly at her, blue eyes crinkling at their edges, “No harm done, though, I think we’re going to have to save going through the museum for another time.” He tilted his head towards the large ornate clock mounted at the end of the hall. “It’s almost closing time. Think you better tell me where we are headed to next?”  
Caitriona hadn’t really thought about where they might go after the museum, having intended to feel Johnathon out as to what type of activity he might be interested in visiting. Due to a series of unfortunate events that hadn’t occurred, and now she was at a bit of a loss as to where exactly they should go now. “Have you ever seen the city lights come on from the top of The Shard?” Johnathon suggested, having sensed her hesitation and decided to chime with an idea of his own.  
“No, I haven’t.” Though she did recall one of her friends mentioning to her how spectacular the view was from one of the restaurants there, “That sounds like a great idea to me.”  
Johnathon offered her his arm one blond eyebrow raised in question, “Walking or driving?”  
“Driving.” She said, giving a bit of a chuckle and settling her hand around his bicep, “it’s a little too far to walk don’t you think?” While it wasn’t that far away in distance, if you are going strictly by measurements, in Caitriona’s estimation, after the day she’d already had, around the corner would have been verging on being too far.  
"I’ll take your word for it.” Johnathon answered, his mouth twitching into a half grin, “wouldn’t have the foggiest idea exactly where it is.”

They peeled off from the main group and headed out towards Russell Street. One look at the mounting traffic caused Caitriona to rethink her position on public transport. It would be a relatively short and simple ride on the tube from here. By car, it would take them anywhere from an hour to God knows when to navigate the inner-city blocks. London streets were notoriously difficult to navigate at the best of times without the added complication of increasing traffic. Not to mention, they would have to find parking at the other end somewhere within walking distance, which in London, wasn’t always an easy thing. There was, however the privacy issue to consider as well. The hands on the clock were about to tick over into peak hour and here she was suggesting that they travel on the most public of any transport system known to man. She’d already been running the gauntlet by just being in this tourist attraction to begin with. Should she really try and push her luck by riding on the London Underground? She really didn’t want to, but she wasn't keen on asking Johnathon to try and navigate the streets, in a strange city, without any real idea of where he was going, just because she didn’t want to run the risk of a little fan interaction.

“Johnathon?” She squeezed his arm, “The traffic’s going to be horrendous, and finding parking could be even worse. Would you rather take the tube?”

He seemed to consider that for a moment, “The tube is always an option,” Blue eyes turned her way, “if that’s what you want to do?”It wasn’t at all what she wanted to do if she could avoid it. Up until a few moments ago, Caitriona still hadn’t given up on the possibility of sitting with him, in the quiet little sanctuary the cabin of a car for some extended period of time, just the two of them.

Caitriona felt the warm pressure of Johnathon’s hand as he pressed it gently against her back, guiding her as they both altered course, turning slightly in order to avoid a collision with an oncoming pedestrian. With this much foot traffic, the tube was probably going to be as busy as its bitumen cousin.“Not overly keen on the tube.” She answered honestly, deciding that the former option was the better, “but navigating the one way narrow streets, that frankly make no sense half the time to anyone, even to those that have lived here half their lives can be a real challenge.”

“Challenge accepted,” Johnathon said good naturedly, as they stepped down from the footpath and crossed the street, heading towards one of the large car parking complexes nearby, “so long as you can put up with me making a few wrong turns or seven?”

“Challenge accepted,” Caitriona grinned back at him and adding a wink of her own.

It took longer than she’d thought and less time than she hoped for them to navigate the busy streets. Every complaint, written by anyone, anywhere, about London traffic was completely justified in Caitriona estimation, and if left her silently rejoicing that she wasn’t the one trying navigate what effectively was a rabbit’s warren swarming with ants. Johnathon had done amazingly well, considering and had only taken one wrong turn, resulting in them almost going down a one way street the wrong way. She almost wished he hadn’t been as proficient at driving as he had turned out to be. Caitriona could have quite happily spent another hour or two, relaxed in the comfortable seat of his car, the noise of the outside world muted and distant. Just the two of them. He’d asked her about her day.  What was more, he had actually listened, chiming in with the odd comment or question, laughing along with her as she related some of the day’s activities. The whole interaction and left her feeling like she was floating in a warm bubble, a curious mixture of pleasant well-being and calm contentment. So much so that Caitriona had to stop herself from letting out a small sigh of regret as they’d left the car and headed back out onto the street, walking the last part of the journey to the high-rise hotel.

Relatively new and certainly unique in design, housing a variety of restaurants, offices and a five-star hotel, The Shard stood out, towering over the surrounding buildings. Caitriona leaned forward, one hand on the handrail, casting her eye down the length of the building. It was a good thing that she wasn’t afraid of heights. The high altitude made the people below look smaller than ants. Then again, from 72 stories up, everything tended to look miniature. The sun had set and the last shades of twilight were beginning to cover the city, a variety of different coloured lights starting to illuminate in various buildings as the darkness of night fell. She turned her head. Johnathon was standing quietly beside her, intelligent blue eyes scanning the skyline. “Tower of London doesn’t look like a bad place to get locked up from here does it?” He raised a finger and pointed at the famous landmark below.

“Looks like a fancy B and B.” Caitriona commented conversationally.

 “You're right,” His face creased into a broad smile, the sight reflected in the clear glass, as he inspected the landmark further, “it does.” The manicured lawns and neatly trimmed paths gave the old stone structure the distinct feeling of a hotel or perhaps even some type of upscale party venue rather than a cold stone monument to an horrific past. “Hard to believe it was once the most feared place in the country.”

“To be fair, it does looks a lot more imposing at ground level.” Caitriona defended, idly watching a large group of pedestrians cross London Bridge.

“So how is it,” Johnathon turned to face her, “you’ve spent so much time in London and never been up here before?”

“Most of my visits to London have just been so busy,” She hesitated, unsure of exactly how to refer to Tony, or if now was even the moment to bring him up. The discussion about exes had thus far been unexplored by both of them. Now was as good a time as any, Caitriona figured, to shine some light into this dark corner. If this, whatever it was, was to have any type of future, this was a discussion that they would both have to have sooner or later anyway. “When I wasn’t working on promotion for the show, I was helping Tony with his business.” Helping was a bit of an understatement. It had been almost a second job for her. She’d been helping Tony promote his club, or helping him network with entertainment contacts that would have otherwise been off limits to him. In all honesty, the whole thing had left her without the time or the inclination to do anything else. “Besides,” Caitriona finished quietly, “Tony was never one to stop and enjoy the sights.”

“Tony?”

“My ex- partner.”

“I think I might have met him.”

Caitriona turned and looked up at him surprised, “You met him?” She was curious as to how on earth someone like Johnathon would have ever come across someone like Tony. It wasn't as if they ran in anything resembling similar circles. They couldn't have been more polar opposite if they'd tried.

“After the cabin. At the motel.” Johnathon supplied, tactfully leaving out the part about Tony inquiring as to whether or not he and Caitriona had slept together. In Johnathon’s opinion, unless there was something he was missing, the guy was a total asshole who needed more than a little instruction in the concept of respect. If it turned out that he never saw Caitriona again, Johnathon was still happy that she'd left that prick in her rear vision mirror.

“I didn’t know he saw you.” Caitriona apologised, ducking her head slightly, instantly confirming to Johnathon that everything he had been previously thinking about Tony had been correct. “We broke up not long after that. Irreconcilable differences shall we say.”

“Mutual decision?”

“Not really.” Caitriona gave a wry shake of her head, “Tony wanted to keep going, but I couldn’t. I think I ended up just wanting something he just couldn’t give.” She gave a small shrug, “It needed to happen, as harsh as that sounds.” She took a deep breath and tried to explain what she meant, “I’m mean, I’m sorry if I hurt him, but I’m not sorry that it happened. If that makes any sort of sense.”

“It makes sense, Caitiriona.” Johnathon said softly, “I don’t think anyone ever sets out to hurt the other person or to not make things work,” He looked away, blue eyes scanning the dark horizon, circled by a dim halo from the glare of the blinking city lights, “but somehow, somewhere along the line, things happen and no matter what you do, you find that you just can’t keep going like that.” His voice trailed off, strong hands gripped the railing as he turned back to face her, “Something has to give and you suddenly realise it can’t be you anymore.”

There was no mistaking hurt when she heard it. She could almost see it buried right back there in those soft pools of blue.  Someone had done a real number on the tall, otherwise, outwardly strong man standing beside her. Caitriona was curious as to who exactly had hurt him and why. “What was it?” She asked softly, “That one thing. That happened?”

For a moment, Caitriona wasn’t sure if she should even be asking, that maybe the hurt was still too real and that Johnathon wasn’t ready to give her or anyone else for that matter access to such intimate details. He remained, silent and perfectly still for several long heartbeats, before Caitriona saw him take a small breath, “She thought I cheated on her.”

That was not what Caitriona expected to hear at all. She’d been expecting job pressures, long distance difficulties with the travel requirements of his job, too much time apart, financial problems, anything but infidelity.  It didn’t seem to fit with the picture she had been building of him. It didn't seem like him. At all. Having said that, Caitriona of all people, knew that sometimes decent human beings made pretty piss poor choices, and that anything was always possible, even for the most unlikely of candidates.

“Had you?”  

It was frank and direct and she knew it, but the question had to be asked. If Johnathon had cheated, she needed to know now.  Even if it meant she had been terribly wrong about him and that this was the end, Caitriona wanted to know, before it was too late. There couldn’t be any room left for doubt, not this time, not again.

Blue eyes held her unblinkingly, “No.”

“What happened to make her think that you had?” She kept her voice soft, walking that fine line between wanting to know and prying into something that obviously still bothered him. 

 “Photos.” Johnathon swallowed heavily but didn’t look away, “while I was away working on a case, someone sent Katherine photos. Photos of me with another woman that I never even met.” His chest expanded as he took a long deep breath and slowly let it out, “Photoshopped. Professionally made. Probably the best fake photos I’ve ever seen in all my career, but fake just the same.”

“I take it she didn’t believe you?”

“She tried to.” Johnathon’s gaze dropped to study his hands, long fingers wrapped around the rail, knuckles going white as he squeezed and released. “Pictures, then phone calls. It got to a point where I think I could have said the sky was blue and she would have doubted it was the truth.” His eyes flicked up, looking out at the cityscape, the blinking lights blurring as his memory turned inwards. “All the proof in the world, would never have been able to take the doubt away. Not for her. Not for me.” Johnathon blinked slowly, “We tried. For a few months after, before the end came.” The end had been inevitable. Even when the woman in question had owned up to the whole thing, confessed to the having the photos and making hundreds of phone calls, all for a considerable fee which turned out to be neigh on untraceable. Despite some effort on his behalf, Johnathon had never been able to find out exactly who had been behind the whole fiasco. The woman had taken the blame with her confession, but anyone with an ounce of investigator in them could see that woman had just been an unfortunate pawn in someone’s sick game. The real culprit remained unknown and when the relationship had broken, Johnathon hadn’t had it in him to keep looking for something that really didn’t matter anymore.

Caitriona took a half step towards him, letting her shoulder brush against his, resting her hand on his arm and gently curling her fingers around his wrist. “Mutual decision?”

Johnathon’s blond head nodded slowly, then he turned to face her, “It had to happen.” Warm fingers covered hers, “Glad now that it did.” Johnathon said softly, blue eyes locking with hers, “If it hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been at the cabin at just the right time.” Long fingers threaded themselves between hers as he moved closer, his voice dropping a register, “I wouldn’t want to have missed that Caitriona.”

She stared into intense pools of liquid blue, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to have missed that either Johnathon.” She felt her heart rate pickup as the tingle started deep in her stomach and worked its way out. She watched him lean towards her, his mouth just stopping short of hers, close for enough for her to feel every syllable, “Sometimes you have to go through the bad to get to the good. Yes?”

“Yes.” Caitriona murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as his warm lips softly covered hers, slowly kissing her. Yes, she decided, sometimes you did have to go through the bad, to get to good.

And yes, she sighed softly as she felt Johnathon deepen the kiss and resting a steadying hand on her hip drawing them closer.

This was definitely, the good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up : A Goodbye - Johnathon has to leave for Australia remember? :) And Caitriona has a bit of a decision to make.


	19. Time Will Tell

The air outside was crisp and cool, distinctly different to the gentle warmth of the quiet interior of the car that Caitriona was comfortably ensconced in. The traffic, as they had made the journey from the restaurant to the hotel, had been reasonably light, though, every now and then, they’d been halted by the changing of a traffic light or the odd pedestrian crossing from one side of the road to the other, travelling to and from the many late night venues that dotted the streets and avenues in this part of the city. Caitriona turned her head, quietly studying the form seated beside her. It had been a highly enjoyable and somewhat revealing evening. Up until that point, Johnathon had kept most of the private details about himself rather vague, almost deliberately generic. She hadn’t been expecting him to be quite so open with her, telling her the intimate details of his recent breakup. It had left a mark on him, she mused silently. A hurt that she suspected he was still grappling with and a feeling she understood. Though, she reflected, she hadn’t exactly come out scot-free in the hurt department from her own recent romantic entanglements. Her eyes traced the features of his profile. The strong squarish jaw, down to the broad shoulders, toned forearms and wrist to the long fingers currently wrapped around the steering. Johnathon was different in more way than one to any man she’d ever been attracted to in the past. She had never liked to admit it, but she had a type and Johnathon didn't fit any of them and yet, a gentle tingle started in her stomach and gradually worked its way out. He got to her. Somehow sliding past all her defenses with a negligent ease, that was both exhilarating and at the same a little frightening. There was no mistaking that feeling now, she swallowed, replaying the recent events of the night. The fire was still coursing through her blood from the intimate moment that they’d shared in the high-rise viewing area. Caitriona unconsciously nibbled her lip, her eyes closing a moment as her mind’s eye recalled the utter enjoyment she’d felt with the physical closeness of him, the touch of his hand on her waist, his mouth on hers, the scent of him, the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She’d felt like she could have quite happily stayed right there for the entire night. With him. Just the two of them. Of course the group of loud but well-meaning tourists, that had spilled out of a recently arrived elevator car at exactly the wrong time, had scuttled that idea completely, just when things had starting to get very interesting. Caitriona could have joyfully strangled the lot of them. She had felt Johnathon relaxing, drawing closer to her and what was more she’d felt herself reciprocating, walking that wavy the line between caution and daring, between safety and wanting.

Not wanting to cause a real scene by continuing in what was now a very public setting, the kiss had ended and they had headed decided to head downstairs to one of the Chinese restaurants. The food had been delicious, the wine even more so, though she had been careful not to overindulge. She had learned that lesson last night. They’d been lucky to have scored a seat a quiet little alcove with a beautiful view of the city where they had finished their meal, talked and laughed about a variety of topics and then headed back to the hotel. 

“Quiet out tonight.” Caitriona commented quietly, returning her gaze to the now mostly empty streets.

“I think everyone is still inside, drinking, eating and generally getting themselves into trouble.” Johnathon nodded towards a particularly large group of night club patrons that had spilled onto the footpath. Some were managing to walk, most were moving in what could at best be called staggering, one even stopping to be sick in nearby rubbishbin.

“Trouble?” Caitriona gave the seat belt a small tug, moving the strap away from her neck, “That sounds ominous. Expert about late night drunken rebel rousing, are you?” She grinned across at him as they started moving again, already knowing full well that he wasn’t, but enjoying the playfulness and ease of the conversation that they seemed to have developed.

“Well, Caitriona,” Johnathon drawled, sending a skitter down her spine at the sound of her name rolling of his tongue, “Don’t let my disguise fool you,” He said, turning his head to address her as they waited for another group to cross the road, “You name it, I’ve roused it.”

She laughed, the sound bringing a broad smile to his face, “Oh really?” Twin dark eyebrows arched neatly in disbelieving inquiry.

“Absolutely.” He paused, “Kind of.” Another pause, “Maybe.” A third pause this time a little longer this time, followed by, “Not at all.”

“So I’m not going to find you regularly holding up a bar at 3 o’clock in the morning then?”

“Fairly safe bet. Though,” He said as he navigated a particularly tight corner on the road, “in my defence, there might have been one or two occasions when I may have spent the night hugging a toilet after overindulging.”

“So that’s why I couldn’t tempt you into any wine tonight?” Caitriona asked, having noticed that he wasn’t a big drinker, “Fear of the aftermath?” In fact, tonight Johnathon hadn’t had any alcohol at all. It had made her wonder if he wasn’t feeling well or perhaps even if he had some history of addiction that he hadn’t yet confessed to her.

“Not quite,” One side of his mouth quirked into a half grin as he guided the car off the road and eased down the hotel parking ramp, heading towards the lower levels, “I wouldn’t want to be thrown in the local watchhouse for drink driving.” Caitriona hadn’t even considered that possibility as to the reason Johnathon wasn’t drinking. It made absolute sense to her now. Having a charge like that against his name couldn’t possibly be a good thing in terms of his career. Caitriona didn’t know for sure but she was fairly certain that, whoever his employer was, something like this wouldn’t bode well for promotion. Not to mention the danger it posed on everyone else on the road. “Besides,” Johnathon explained as he eased the car to a gentle stop, pulling into the assigned bay and silencing the engine with a turn of the key, “I needed all my faculties intact to have any chance of impressing you by navigating those streets in one piece.” Caitriona unclipped her seatbelt and gathered the purse from her lap, waiting quietly as Johnathon walked around the front of the car and opened her own door, offering her his hand.“Thank god for GPS,” He waggled his eyebrows comically at her as she gripped his hand and stepped out of the car, “It’s a miracle we didn’t end up in Wales.”

A warmth, that had nothing to do with the wine, washed over her in a contented wave, as long fingers threading between hers, his palm resting gently against hers, as they turned and walked towards the elevator. “Oh I don’t know about that,” Caitriona said with a gentle smile as she leaned towards him letting her shoulder’s gently brush against him, “I hear the countryside in Wales is really pretty this time of year. Might be worth seeing.”

Johnathon reached forward, his finger hovering over the button that would call the lift in an instant, blond brows raised in question as his blue eyes flicked from her face to the car in silent suggestion, a charming smile on his handsome face.

“I thought you said you weren’t a trouble making rebel rouser.” Caitriona laughed softly as she nudged his hand forward until it connected with metal press plate, the button illuminating, indicating the elevator was on its way.

“I’m not.” He smiled with a soft shake of his head, as his thumb slowly stroked hers through their linked hands, “Maybe I’m just looking for any excuse to spend to more time with you.” 

Caitriona looked up at him, “Who said you needed an excuse?” Her voice was quiet, intent pools of blue holding his gaze in the charged stillness.

“Don’t I?” He asked, slowly leaning down towards her.

“No,” She breathed, resting a hand on his forearm and pulling him closer, “you don’t.” Caitriona caught the barest glimpse of a small smile as she closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him as warm lips covered hers, kissing her long and slow. Strong hands moved from her hip, sliding over the small of her back and wrapping around her back as she leaned against him, her own hands finding their way to his shoulders, fingers curling around the back of his neck, urging him to continue. She let out a soft sigh as he deepened the kiss and tightened his arms around her. Somewhere in the back of her hearing the annoying ding heralding the arrival of the lift sounded, bringing the kiss to a rapid end. Hands fell from each other as if they had touched a red hot poker, separating like teenagers caught in the sudden glare of the parental porch light as the lift doors opened and revealed an elderly couple standing towards the back of the car, evidently travelling from one of the parking levels below.

Caitriona suddenly found the ground worthy of intense study, hoping her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. She heard Johnathon clear his throat, felt his hand take hers as they stepped into the lift space, taking up their position in the car on the opposite side to the older couple.  Caitriona flicked a sideways glance to the tall form beside her. Blue eyes met hers and a cheeky wink followed, accompanied by the gentle squeeze of her hand, one corner of his mouth twitching, as he tried to keep the grin of his face. It seemed to take an inordinately long time for the elevator to finally arrive at their floor, until, at last they stepped out into the long hallway, which thankfully, was, at least for the time being, empty.  

“You know,” Johnathon remarked conversationally, as they padded slowly down the carpeted surface towards Caitriona’s room, “I think you and I should stay well away from lifts.”

“No kidding.” Caitriona quipped, “Half the population of London chooses THE most inopportune moments to suddenly get the urge to go travelling in lifts. It’s becoming an epidemic.”  Johnathon chuckled low in his throat, amused at Caitriona’s slight over exaggeration, though not able to argue the accuracy of the sentiment behind it. A small silence fell between them as they approached Caitriona’s door. The sudden realisation seemed to hit her at once, that with every step they took, the night was drawing to an end. That wasn’t what she wanted but Caitriona knew, in all reality, that is exactly was it was. Pretending may well have been a hallmark of her previous relationships, be damned if she was ever going to do that again. She couldn’t.

“When do you fly out to Australia?” She asked quietly, not wanting to hear the answer but knowing she needed to.

Johnathon let out a small breath and looked down at his watch, realising it was far later than he’d thought, “In about 3 hours.”

The statement hung in the air like a heavy dew, dampening everything it touched. It was worse than she thought. Three hours.  No chance for an early morning breakfast, he would be long gone by then. She wasn’t even sure when or if he was coming back. “How long will you be in Australia?” Her voice faltered slightly as their footsteps slowed before drawing to a halt outside her hotel room. It wasn’t precisely what she wanted to know, but her courage had deserted her for the moment. In all likelihood, he wouldn’t be back for months and months, if at all. She would be neck deep in filming by then, the whole affair nothing but a distant memory. She felt like they were just getting started and she wasn’t ready for that to end.

“Most of this week.” His voice was gentle as he turned to face her, long fingers idly playing with hers, “I have to testify on Wednesday afternoon and probably all day Thursday. Could take even longer than that. It’s a bit of wait and see situation.”

“And after that?” Crystal blue eyes lifted to his, “Any chance you’ll be gracing the UK anytime soon?”

“Hard to tell really." Her hopes began to fade." It will depend on where our next case is.”

‘Oh.” Caitriona said softly, leaving the hallway ominously quiet. There it was. The overwhelming dose of reality she’d been dreading. He would leave go to Australia, she would leave go back to Glasgow and that, as they say, would be that. Time and distance would work against them, destroying any chance they might have had. If there had been any chance to begin with. After the disaster of Tony, she really didn’t expect a chance. It was probably a good thing that things ended before she made another mistake.  It all seemed logical and fitted nicely with her newly adopted rules of looking before leaping, truth over pretense, safety over risk.

Except.

Even with all her self talk and doubt, Caitriona hadn’t been able to silence that small voice inside her that kept whispering to her that this, whatever this was, whatever she wanted to call it, it was different to anything that she’d experienced before and warranted the danger of a chance. It was more than the blatant sexual attraction and pure desire that her body screamed out at the top of its lungs whenever Johnathon was around. This was something entirely separate to that. Caitriona wasn’t even sure she understood what it was and if asked to pinpoint the reason, she wouldn’t have been able to. The only thing she knew with growing certainty, was that she wasn’t ready for this to be the end. She wanted more. God, did she ever. She just wasn’t sure how to get it.

“Caitriona?” Johnathon’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts, “Could I,” His eyes searched hers, “that is,” he took a small step towards her, “would you..” Johnathon hesitated, swallowing audibly, and letting out a short breath more in frustration than anything, “could I..” He felt like an idiot, nervously babbling, trying to keep his balance on what was unsteady ground. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. At this point, he was sure that a 17-year-old would probably be more articulate than he was. He wanted to see Caitriona again. Sooner rather than later. If it was up to him, he’d stay now, go back to Glasgow with Caitriona, take some time to really get to know her. But that wasn’t an option. At least not right now. He couldn’t just dump his responsibility. He had to go to Australia and testify. But he didn’t want to leave Caitriona without knowing for certain if she wanted to see him again. Johnathon suspected she did, though he wasn’t certain.  He’d never been particularly good at the whole dating scene, and to be honest, he didn’t exactly trust his instincts when it came to judging this sort of thing. Was he reading more into this than he should? Feeling something that just wasn’t there? He wasn’t even sure if he was actually ready to even contemplate seeing someone. To let someone back in again who could, in the blink of an eye, inflict such pain that just breathing took effort. It was dangerous, the damage barely healed. Taking a chance on her was risky. In fact, it absolutely terrified him.

And yet here he was, standing in front of Caitriona, wanting to trust her, wanting to take that chance. A simple choice. The safety of solitude or the uncertainty that came with letting someone into his world, into heart.  He studied Caitriona's soft blue eyes as she stood quietly, waiting patiently for him to finish. With his heart fairly pounding in his chest, Johnathon squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and made a decision, sending a silent prayer to whoever was listening and hoping to Christ this wasn’t another mistake.“I’d really like to see you again Caitriona.  I know I’m leaving tomorrow, and who knows how long I’ll be away for, or when I’ll be able to get back and I know you have filming and work but, would it be alright if I called you, or skyped or whatever works for you?” It came out faster than he wanted but there was no turning back now, the decision had been made, “Just while I’m away in Australia, until I can get back here to see y-”

Johnathon never got a chance to finish the sentence. Caitriona closed the distance between them, laying one hand flat on his chest, the other curling around his neck and pulling him down to her. His words had been exactly that she had been needing. He wanted more and he was coming back. In the space of several long heartbeats he had quietened any doubts she might have had that this was the end, disappearing into warmth of his touch, reinforced by the certainty of his response. Strong arms closed around her, wrapping around her waist and pulling her tightly against the solid frame of his chest, "Is that a yes?"

“Yes,” Caitriona murmured against his lips, “That's a yes. To all of it.”

She sighed softly as Johnathon kissed her long and deep, her own hands sliding over his shoulders, holding on tightly, as she fell into him, steadily exploring his mouth, her tongue finding his, advancing and retreating, his own following hers, only reluctantly drawing the kiss to a close in order to breathe. Caitriona rested her forehead on his, studying his eyes at very close distance. “Come see me again as soon as you can?” She whispered on an uneven breath, threading her fingers through the soft silky strands on the back of his head.

“I will.” His voice was deep, slightly husky and flowed like honey, trickling down through her senses, honest eyes locked with hers unblinkingly, in a solemn vow that left no room for doubt, “I promise.”

There was no blaming the wine this time. She could feel it the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, in the gentle touch of his hands on her back, in the warmth of his breath against her skin.  She smiled, letting her fingertips follow the line of his jaw, her thumb, gently stroking his cheek, letting the pad trace the smile she saw reflected there. 

This was definitely a beginning.

The right choice?

Or a mistake?

Only time would tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for all your encouragement. I may be a little late posting the next installment as it is reporting atm at work and we have a quadrennial review coming up next week as well. I will try and keep the writing train on the track but it might be a few days late. I'll see how I go. 
> 
> Cheers


	20. Waiting

4:31. Caitriona blinked slowly, and let out a sigh, staring at the red illuminated numbers of the bedside clock. He would be in the air by now. On a plane, flying out back to Australia, half way around the world. Thousands of miles away. She turned over and tucked a hand beneath the surface of the pillow. Maybe she should have gotten up, at least said goodbye.  
Again.  
Caitriona had suggested as much when they had said goodnight, but as Johnathon had logically explained, after the late hour of their date, they would barely have time to go their rooms before they’d be back right where they were, saying goodbye in the hotel hallway. Caitriona smiled recalling the moments in question. She had hardly believed what her ears had realised when Johnathon had asked if he could see her again. Stumbling over his words, shifting on his feet, sounding very much exactly as Caitriona had felt, Johnathon had seemed so uncharacteristically nervous, that Caitriona had all but convinced herself that he was about to say, ‘it’s been nice but I’ll call you don’t call me.’ He hadn’t though and had instead given her exactly what she’d needed. Caitriona rolled over onto her back and laced her fingers together, resting them on the flat plane of her stomach, eyes searching the ceiling through the muted darkness. A curious combination of relief and anticipation had washed over her in those few moments when the stunning realisation that Johnathon was coming back. She could almost still feel the soft pressure of his mouth on hers, the security that she’d felt when his strong arms had closed around her, the scent of him, that mix of male and his particular cologne that she found entirely intoxicating. “Christ.” She murmured as she blew out a long slow breath. Anyone would have thought she’d been deprived of sex for at least an eon the way certain parts of her body were reacting. 

She stopped and thought about that a moment. In way, it had been a very long time since she had felt this way. Sex with Tony had, more often than not, generally been a one sided affair. He would finish, usually rather quickly, leaving Caitriona to take care of business herself or, as was usually the case, just give up. There had been a time, not that long ago when, Caitriona, being a bit of a romantic a heart, had really found it a stretch to believe some of her friends who were at the time in long term, committed relationships, had complained that they often felt lonely, even during sex with their boyfriends or husbands. 

Not now.

Time and experience had changed her mind significantly. For a large portion of her relationship with Tony, more so towards the end, but now, looking back and with the benefit of the clarity of hindsight, Caitriona realised that it had been exactly as they had described. Tony had been right there with her and yet, even when he was inside her, she’d felt entirely alone. That feeling of empty helpless solitude was yet another thing that Caitriona was absolutely determined, with every fibre of her being, to never put herself in a position like that again.

Not in any future relationship, romantic or otherwise. 

Never again, she reminded herself. If this thing with Johnathon turned out to go somewhere, Caitriona was going to make sure she went into it with her eyes wide open. No blinkers, no preconceived ideas, no lies or images to maintain. She fully intended to take this slow, to do things differently, place each step with infinite care and consideration, so there would be no tripping, no missteps or blind sides, to knock off her feet. Caitriona realised that in even beginning to hope she had opened herself up to disappointment. Relationships were risky bloody business. Stubborn intentions and careful planning were all good and well, but the fact remained, eliminating all the risk was impossible. There was no guarantee that Johnathon would come back, statements in hotel hallways were just that. Words hastily spoken in a charged atmosphere. He’d promised, given his word and she got the feeling that was something he took seriously but, truth to be told, it was too early to truly know if his word was to be thoroughly trusted.  
Trust.  
The life blood of any relationship. Caitriona wanted to trust Johnathon. God, did she ever. But wanting didn’t erase the past. She was more than acutely aware that her past, and, given the information Johnathon had divulged to her tonight, his past also, still had a role to play in their futures, whatever that might or might not be. Her past with Tony had the tendency to colour every decision she made, exerted influence on every thought like a magnet on a compass, silently trying to push her one way or the other, putting up walls where there once were none, causing doubt without reason.  
His, Caitriona nibbled one side of her lip, deep in thought, when you stripped back all the accusations that he’d detailed to her, whether they were true or not, it had been the loss of trust between the couple that had proved insurmountable for Johnathon. Similar to her own situation, the end had taken some time to finally come. Caitriona got the feeling that, unlike her, where letting go had been easier than she’d been dreading, Johnathon’s letting go had been difficult. Difficult, with one thing at the very centre of it all. He’d left because he believed he wasn’t trusted anymore. 

Though, it could be argued, she only knew one side of the story. She wondered if, the woman in question, Caitriona’s forehead wrinkled, trying to remember the woman in question’s name. Katherine, she recalled after a few moments, remembering it only because its short form was extraordinarily close to her own short version of her name. Kate, Johnathon had called her. More than one person had mistakenly called Caitriona something similar. She generally didn’t shorten her name but that didn’t stop others around her from doing it. Namely Sam. She’d argued with him over it, but he had stubbornly refused to stop calling her Cait, which sounded like the feline animal rather than any resemblance to her actual name. Caitriona wasn’t particularly fond of it, but as more people had began to jump on the bandwagon, she’d decided to just roll with it. It was more effort than it was worth to try and put a stop to it. Regardless of her own name, clearly this Kate, or Katherine, or whatever her name was, had played a pivotal part and would have her own side in Johnathon's story. 

Had he cheated? He’d said not and, maybe she was stupid to do so, but Caitriona believed him. It was something in the way Johnathon had looked at her when she’d asked him if he had done the cheating. A look, deep down in the back of those blue eyes, unblinkingly tinged with a hint of sadness, but stunningly clear of any sign of regretful guilt, had all but convinced her that he was telling the truth. A look that reinforced her gut feeling that Johnathon wasn’t a man who would cheat on someone he was committed to. Had he been committed to her? Caitriona suspected he had. In her experience, the type of hurt she'd seen in the back of those eyes only came from one source. 

Betrayal. 

She knew, as well as anyone on the face of the earth, that betrayal had the capacity to hurt deep enough to leave that kind of mark, and only when you were deeply invested in someone. She’d thought seen bare glimpses of that hurt when she'd first met him in the cabin. At the time, she hadn’t taken much notice, her mind far to preoccupied with her own problems, but the hurt had been there none the less. Her own memory of it all helping to tip the scales in favour of her view that Johnathon was indeed telling the truth about the situation. 

Caitriona was slowly finding out pieces of information from him the more time they spent together, but at the moment there remained an awful lot of blanks. She idlily picked at a loose thread on the hem of the sheet. Truth of the matter was, Caitriona just didn’t know Johnathon well enough yet to be able to banish supposition and doubt. It was just too early and whether she liked it or not, she couldn’t really do anything more than wait.  
Wait to see if he kept it word and came back to her.  
Wait to see if he was the man she thought he would be.  
Wait to find out more about the blond man that had sparked her interest. 

She pulled the loose thread taut, wrapping it around the end of her finger. She wasn’t a fan of waiting. Never had been. Patience was not one her virtues. Caitriona’s eyes dropped to the bedside table, focusing on the slim profile of her laptop. She argued with herself for a few moments as too the moral justification of google stalking a man she was interested in. Her sister Sarah had no such moral qualms. It seemed to Caitriona that no matter the topic, problem, place or person, Sarah insisted that google had the answer. 

Caitriona pulled the tread tight, a soft snap sounding as it broke and came away. She eyed the device on the table dubiously, still debating the logic of using the internet to glean information about Johnathon.  
The internet. Her own experience with that particular information source hadn’t always been positive. If Caitriona believed half of everything she had read about herself, she’d have been married to fifteen different people, suffered through a litany of eating disorders, several drug binges and have, or be working on having, her third child by now. 99% of what she’d ever read had been downright lies, the accuracy of the remaining 1% buried so deep that it was only that she knew personally knew the lies from the truth that she’d had been able to recognise it as such. She was in show business and knew she that brought the consequence of always having a stronger than normal online presence, but the lack of correct information made the idea of searching for information on Johnathon, who was just an ordinary citizen, seem like an exercise in futility to her. Then again, the only place that left her was sitting here.  
Still waiting.  
Caitriona narrowed her eyes at the laptop, then finally giving into its temptation, she gave a small shrug, let out a soft sigh and sat up. Extending a long arm, she snagged the offending item from the table. Drawing her legs up, she balanced the machine on her knees, flipping open the lid and waiting patiently for it to boot. It wasn’t as if she was going to believe half of what she found anyway. If she managed to find anything at all. A sickly white light bathed her face as she typed Johnathon Chase’s name into the search engine, her finger hovering over the enter button, one last moment of hesitation before lowering the digit. 

A few seconds later the screen displayed the results. In fact, hundreds of results. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She clicked on the first link, then closed it, equally as fast. Clearly the name Johnathon Chase was as unique as she’d thought it might have been. Caitriona was positively certain that the man she’d been on two dates with was not of Mexican heritage nor was he auto mechanic currently doing 15 to life in a state penitentiary. She tried again, this time adding a few descriptors that she already knew about him, hoping it might help narrow the search. It took at least three more failed attempts before she finally she found what she thought was the first piece of reliable information about the real Johnathon Chase. She’d figured it was factual because there was no mistaking the pair of blue eyes looking back at her from the picture on the screen. This was definitely her Johnathon Chase. The same strong jaw, the same square set of his shoulders, the same blue eyes, the face slightly younger, but definitely still the man she knew. He was listed as an alumna of Harvard Law School. She clicked on the link below the image not overly surprised when it listed the dual degrees of an MBA and law degree, both completed with honours no less. That aligned well enough with what Johnathon had already told her. What didn’t quite fit with the date beside each of these accomplishments. Dark brows knit. Maybe they got their dates screwed up on the website. According to this data, Johnathon Chase had either completed a dual degree at one of the most prestigious schools in the United States at the age of 13 or he was at least 10 years older than she was. 

The dates had to be wrong. 

That’s all there was to it. 

There was no way the man she was seeing was pushing 40. And what was more, it meant he would have lied to her about his age on their very first date.

Had to be a mistake. 

Further down the page there was another notation indicating further achievements. Still puzzling over the last piece of information, she clicked on the link. “Holy crap.” She murmured. He had more degrees than she’d thought was humanly possible. Various levels of degrees in in criminology, forensic psychiatry, forensic science and criminal justice. Had she not actually been viewing the pages of Oxford and Cambridge University, and the annotation that he had apparently receive special dispensation from the Dean to complete extra coursework concurrently, Caitriona would have been seriously doubting the validity of the information she was finding. At least the dates on these made more sense. According to this page and her quick calculations, he would have been in his early 20s when he completed these. That made a lot more sense than the ridiculous age of 13 that she’d gotten from Harvard Law. Timelines it didn’t quite match up and yet, that had definitely been Johnathon in that picture.The whole thing was just curiouser and curiouser and it left her feeling slighly uneasy. 

She’d heard the Internet described as a rabbit hole and she was well and truly now believing it. A few more clicks, some wrong and some right and she’d found information about the company he worked for. From what she could understand, it was an independent global consultancy firm that seemed to work with any and all law enforcement agencies. Johnathon was listed as a lead investigator, again, exactly truthful to what he had told her. The more she looked, the more she realised there wasn’t a great deal of information about him, but there was at least some of the basics. He had no presence on Facebook or Twitter or any of the other social media platforms. That wasn’t unusual, she herself was only on them as a form of promotion and PR for her work. All in all, it was turning out to be a bit of a mixed bag. If the information was to be believed, and the jury was still out on that fact, Johnathon had certainly been to university and he definitely did work in the field that he’d told her. Still, a small kernel of doubt worked its way into her brain over the discrepancy of his age and the timelines that she’d been presented with. It hadn’t exactly been the slamdunk shot of confidence that she’d been hoping for. “Bloody internet.” She cursed. The arrow of her mouse hovered over the small x, about to shut the whole thing down when the barest glimpse of an image caught her attention.  
“Well, well.” Her voice a mixture of caution and curiosity. Scrolling down, she clicked on the thumbnail. A single image opening before her eyes. The picture showed a woman and man, standing close together. She in a simple yet elegant black dress, he in a black tie suit. Both of them smiling at the camera, taking what, to Caitriona’s practiced eyed, was indeed, an excellent picture. Her gaze flicked to the caption – “Dr Katherine Carmichael and partner, Mr Johnathon Chase attend the AMA Medical Benefit Gala.” The picture had been taken early last year from the information presented. Caitriona studied the image for a few moments, her eyes flicking from Johnathon’s handsome form and inevitably ending up appraising the woman by his side. They looked happy, Caitriona reflected, as she clicked on the link taking her to a digital magazine publication site. According to the article accompanying the picture, Katherine Carmichael was the head of emergency medicine at a large hospital and had been the recipient of some prestigious medical award or another that Caitriona didn’t even pretend to recognise. As the eldest daughter of one of Boston’s prestigiously wealthy business families, Katherine Carmichael was thin and tall, almost as tall as Johnathon, Caitriona assessed, with brilliant green eyes and head full of long blond hair. Quite beautiful, Caitriona begrudgingly admitted, in fact, they looked good together, a typical high society couple, she supposed. And yet, they had broken. “So,” Caitriona drew the word out slowly, “you were the one.” The one that had caused that look in his eyes, the unmistakable injury that only betrayal can inflict. 

It was only a flicker, but right back in the base of her belly, close to her spine, Caitriona felt the spark of anger. She barely knew Johnathon, but the mere inkling of a thought that someone had hurt him, that this woman, Katherine, her mind tasted the word sourly, had hurt him, had more of an effect on her and she had expected. She wouldn’t have liked to admit it, but it may have had more than a little something to do with the fact that Katherine Carmichael was obviously well accomplished and an attractive woman that Johnathon had evidently felt something far more than friendship towards. She could see in the way they were standing, closer than friends, the barriers of personal distance fallen away. He'd felt something for her that was certain.  
“Now why,” Caitriona narrowed her eyes studying the picture closely, hoping to divine the impossible from the static image, “would little miss doctor, walk away from that?” Her voice trailed off as her eyes shifted from Katherine’s face back to the man of the moment. 

Questions. 

So many questions. 

It was just one picture and Caitriona knew damn well better than most people that pictures could be deceiving. She shook her head, “Fucking internet.” She grouched, making a mental note to use this exact example as an argument next time Sarah got on her one of her goggle stalking campaigns. 

Resigning herself to the fact she was never going to find any answers until Johnathon returned Caitriona closed the laptop, long legs dropping over the side of the bed, the carpet soft beneath her bare feet as she padded across to the table and dropped the machine on its hard surface. Here she was, back to waiting again. “Fanfuckingtastic.” She let out a long deep breath of frustration, then leaning back, she arched her back, stretching oout the kinks before crossing her arms over her chest, her active mind still ticking over as she started to pace, back and forth across the room. She shot a glance to the wretched clock on the table. Almost 6 am and at least another ten hours before Johnathon would land in Singapore, for a brief stopover to refuel before flying on to Sydney. 

Just when, she reflected ruefully, did being attracted to someone turn into such an ordeal? She paced a few steps. Was dating always this difficult? And why the hell did Australia have to be so far away?

It was going to be a long few days until with nothing to do but trust that Johnathon would return. 

Of course, she shrugged and paced some more, continuing her internal diatribe, that meant more waiting. 

If this didn’t work out, she fully intended, without a single hint of a lie, to live the rest of her life, surrounded by nothing but a hundred cats for company.

In a country cottage far away from civilisation. 

And the god damned internet. 

And her sister's advice.

“Christ Johnathon.” She glared at the closed laptop, “This had better be worth it.” 

Decided there was little else to do, Caitriona settled on having a long hot shower. Then maybe she’d start packing up and even leave for Glasgow a few hours earlier than she had planned. There was evidently no point in trying to sleep late and to be honest, doing anything, was better than sitting around here. 

Overthinking everything.  
Waiting.  
Wanting to know more.  
Wanting to have more.  
Wondering what had really happened after that damned picture.  
Wondering if she was doing the right the thing.  
Trusting that she was.  
Wondering if Johnathon was coming back.  
Trusting that he was. 

Caitriona was so preoccupied with her current situation and the irritating slowness of the passing of time, that she didn’t notice the shadow, barely visible beneath the hotel door. Not even as she passed within a foot of it as she padded into the bathroom. 

The dark outline, that had lingered far longer than normal, only now, turned on its heel.

Then slowly, silently, walked away.


	21. The Job

He watched her silently until she disappeared behind the security doors, the last check point before boarding the aircraft. A one way flight to Glasgow. Erring on the side of caution, he decided to wait until well after the plane’s physical departure, just to ensure that she was on it. If he could just make it another few hours, then it would be done. He would have played his part just as he’d promised. He wondered briefly, as he pulled out a chair, sitting down at a long bench, and facing the blackened tarmac, studying the target aircraft as taxied towards take off. Watching wasn’t generally his thing. He preferred a far more permanent and indisputable end game.  
But for fifty grand, he’d lower his standards. Hell, he'd even thrown in putting up with a silver spoon for a chance at the easy money. At least this silver spoon had a history of paying on time and in full, even if he was a bit a prick otherwise. It wasn’t a difficult task. All he had to do was follow some private investigator of a high price security firm, find out if he was fucking anyone and report back.  
Easy money.  
That was exactly what he’d been doing for the past week. Things had started out almost being too quiet. The target lived the life of a fucking monk. Didn't see anyone. Didn't go anywhere but work and the hotel. Didn't get any local hookers or even a visit from a local drug dealer. The fucker didn't even use the mini bar. He knew. He'd check the restock records. It was all positively mundane. Simple job, albeit extremely boring one. Nothing to report. He would have been finished earlier if it hadn’t been for the tall piece of ass that had come onto the scene in the last few days. Her arrival had changed everything. For one, he had to contact that prick and get further instructions. Something he disliked with a passion. Still, he’d been given instructions to watch her, find out what he could about and report back. Things had gone from bad to worse after that, forcing him to do some fucked up long hours in order to keep on eyes on both of them. He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out scruffy looking notepad. Caitriona Balfe. Actress. He had to admit, that monk investigator had good taste. She was extremely fuckable and he had been sure that on the last night in particular that he'd finally have something to report back. If it had been him instead of that boring investigator, he would have fucked woman into next week. But no. Instead, all he had to report was bit of hot and heavy in the hotel hallway. He still was in disbelief that they hadn't ended up in each other's rooms. Though, the woman must have had second thoughts about that because, he noted, she was up and still moving around most of the night when he'd returned from the airport after the target had boarded the plane. Dark eyes flicked up to the information screen. Her flight status had been updated to departed. 

Job complete. One in Australia, one travelling to Glasgow. If the silver spoon wanted anymore information, he was going to have fork out more money. Fucked if he was going to travel in opposite directions around the world for free. Maybe if he was lucky, the silver spoon would decide on a high-end service. 

High end services, after all, were his specialty. Better than this low end, indefinite watching shit. He preferred the closure that only an end could give. Make no mistake. Death was his normal paycheck, bloodless and silent. No fuss. No problems. Just an end. His tattooed hand dialed the number then lifted the slimline cell phone to his ear, “It’s done.” He reported, relaying the relevant information to his current employer, answering in short sharp sentences. “No. Some actress. Looks like he just met her. I’ll email the packet to you when I see the funds in my account.” He waited a moment then added, “Unless you want something more,” He tasted the word as he said it slowly, barely able to contain the hit of adrenaline that came from just thinking about it, “shall we say permanent performed on either of them.” The answer came back immediately. The price already triple his normal rate. A slow, lopsided smile spread across his face as he closed the phone and made his way to ticket sales. This was more like it.  
"How can I help you Sir?" A pretty young brunette addressed him from behind the counter, "Where are you flying to today?"  
"Glasgow." He answered.  
Perhaps this job might turn out to be better than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting two chapters this fortnight because this chapter was a short one and it didn't feel right only posting the one. 
> 
> Cheers.


	22. Time

Johnathon pushed the chair back and stood, acknowledging the judge with a slight nod of his head, then quietly followed the court officer as he was escorted out of the main courtroom and through the set of large solid wooden doors into the small waiting room. He glanced at his watch.

10:00 am.

Better than he’d been expecting. Originally he’d thought that they’d be required to testify all day today, to be finished this early was an absolute boon. Within the hour, the verdict would be rendered and Johnathon’s team would be officially finished with this case. Sliding his phone from his back pocket, Johnathon checked his messages, unable to keep the small smile from his face as he read three of Caitriona’s latest messages. She had been at a read through during his night, the time difference making communicating with each other interesting. Thus far, they had been making it work somehow. Johnathon had stayed up very late the previous two nights video calling Caitriona during her morning hours and in return, Caitriona had messaged him when ever she had the chance during her day. It required a little finagling, but, he was determined to at least do his best to maintain communication.

Though, he reflected, he was still working on wrapping his mind around some of the terms, requirements and obligations that Caitriona’s current occupation demanded of her. It was a steep learning curve. Science, logic, mathematics, the language of academics and the law, that he knew like the back of his hand. Acting, the creative arts, fashion, photography and everything that was part and parcel of the entertainment industry, was something entirely different. Johnathon could tally up what he knew about that particular area on the back of a matchbook. His own set of life experiences were vastly different compared to Caitriona and he'd never really encounted, in any great detail at least, the things that were part of Caitriona's day to day.

It was so different that Johnathon couldn’t even pretend to understand half of what Caitriona had been talking about in her messages. Table reads, blocking, promotional photos, even wig fittings. It was all a foreign language to him. As far as he was concerned, a bit of tape, a few pins, maybe some glue if you got particularly desperate, was all anybody really needed to fit a wig. He certainly had never heard of somebody having to go have a meeting about the said wig, make wig selections and then have to sit for a few hours while they worked out the time and preparation techniques to get the result they wanted. The whole process, it turned out, took far longer than the 10 minutes that Johnathon surmised it might. His smile widened, reading the last message, in which the subject of the wigs had been left behind, and now detailed Caitriona’s extreme dislike of exercising. A feeling which she had described particularly colourfully and one which Johnathon happened to agree with.

“What are you grinning at?” Jackson commented, shoving open the door with one hand, an extraordinarily large coffee cup in the other, “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be in there?” The dark haired man nodded towards the courtroom entrance and sat down in one the arm chairs, sucking on the white lid of the cup.

“No. They are finished with me.” Johnathon didn’t look up, instead, long fingers darted across the touchscreen, sending a reply to Caitriona, before turning the phone face down on the table top.

“Finished?” Jackson swallowed a mouthful of hot coffee, “Already? I knew their case was pretty shitty but this has gotta be a record.”

Johnathon leaned back in the chair, the hinges squeaking slightly under his weight, “They are doing the summation now, so we should have a final verdict by 11.”

“Hot damn. We are hitting two for two today.” Jackson grinned, referring to another three members of Johnathon’s team who were currently giving evidence in an unrelated case in the adjoining court room. There had been some question as to whether it would be necessary for Johnathon to also give evidence in that case, however thus far, the other members of his team seemed to have been managing quite well and Johnathon fully expected there to be dual guilty verdicts rendered. All in all, a successful end to six months worth of investigation.

The dull sound of the phone vibrating against the solid wooden desk drew both men’s attention. Johnathon leaned forward and flipped the object over, quietly reading the message. Blond brows knit as he read the long and detailed text. Rather than being the message from Caitriona that he’d been expecting, it was further information from Finn McGovern, the lawyer in London, about a slight situation that while nothing extremely alarming, at least warranted some further investigation. Not because Johnathon was worried about what they might find, but rather why now. The timing of it was slightly confusing. Early results seem to indicate that this was more than just the general inquiries that always floated about every few months so. This was someone was going to extra effort and Johnathon was curious as to why someone was suddenly interested in doing so.

“Trouble?” Jackson asked draining the last coffee from the cup. He’d known Johnathon a long time, almost 15 years and had learned to read his tight-lipped friend’s face.

“Not really.” Johnathon sent back more instructions and the odd suggestion or two about where to focus their energies on finding out who was doing this. He’d wait another few weeks to see if their interest had waned by then. If they didn’t, then he would get involved. “Just someone poking around.” Johnathon gave a slight shrug and tossed the phone back on the desk.

“About what?” Jackson asked idly playing with the empty coffee cup, rolling it between the palms on his hands.

“ECA.”

“Someone on that wild goose chase again are they. I swear, every year this does the rounds.”

“Almost,” Johnathon agreed, watching as Jackson gave a flick of his wrist, setting the cup spinning quite skilfully like a top on the flat surface. “It’s a bit different this time, though.” His voice held a casual tone which belied the seriousness of the subject matter, “They haven’t been happy with the normal answers. Got ourselves a digger this time I think.”

The cup’s motion stopped, as green eyes lifted to blue, a concerned look on Jackson’s face, “How close are they?”

“Close enough to be of interest”

“Any ideas on who?” Jackson studied Johnathon’s reaction. He knew damn well that his work partner sitting across the table was more than likely thinking three steps ahead of anyone working the details anyway, but it never hurt to ask.

“I don’t know yet.” Johnathon idly scratched a fingernail across a mark on the table, “I’ve left that with Finn to gnaw away at. I’ve given him a few places to start from.”

Jackson slowly nodded, quietly wondering if Johnathon was including the one name that had instantly popped into his own head at the mention of this problem. He knew that his friend still had extremely raw and somewhat mixed feelings on this subject. He felt like Johnathon was only just getting back to being his normal self and Jackson wasn’t particularly keen to bring anything up that might reverse that situation. Love, he cursed silently. That shit was dangerous. It had brought a strong man to knees for all the wrong reasons. Jackson had witnessed it and he was damned certain that number one, he’d never let that shit ever happen to him and two, if Katherine or anyone else wanted to hurt Johnathon like that again, they would have to go through him first. Jackson almost hoped he wasn’t right. He’d liked Katherine, really he had, but the whole fucked up situation with Johnathon and those damned pictures had been a clusterfuck from the beginning. There was only ever one way it was going to end. Jackson didn’t know who was blame and to be frank, he didn’t particularly care. People make mistakes. He viewed it as a simple fact of life. Shit happens. You move on. Best not to let your feet get tied down in the first place. That was the way he felt about it. He generally wasn’t into holding grudges, but, fuck, the timing of this was more than a little suspicious. Johnathon and Katherine break up and then some asswipe somewhere starts snooping around for information on his friend. Strong coincidence if you asked him. They may well have separated on a good terms, even if good was a relative term, reserved for any two people who go through a breakup but that didn’t mean that the loyalty Katherine might have once had towards Johnathon still remained the same. In Jackson's experience, women could be fickle. Hell, there had to be a reason why there was a saying about what women do when scorned.  
It was too coincidental to be ignored. Surely, he glanced over to Johnathon, who was currently studying the goings on in the court room on the wall mounted closed circuit TV. He had to have been at least considering her as the culprit.

Setting the now empty coffee cup aside, Jackson drew a short breath, wishing he could have a cigarette and taking a deep breath instead, “John?” Jackson hesitated as Johnathon’s gaze dropped to focus on him, “You don’t think that,” he ventured frantically trying to read his friend’s face which was staying infuriatingly passive, “ that this couldn’t be, well, Kate, could it?”

The passivity disappeared in an instant, blue eyes turning to ice as they stared back at him, “Jackson...” The warning tone was unmistakeable.

Jackson raised a hand, “I’m not saying it is her or that she would, I just...” His hand dropped to the table, taking Johnathon’s silence as a positive sign the he should continue, “Shit has happened and that can make people do some fucked up things John. Things you never thought they would. Maybe it slipped out in drunken conversation or was overheard or something. I just think the possibility is one that maybe you should consider.”

For several long heartbeats the room was silent before Johnathon very slowly and deliberately pushed his chair back and turned, “I’ve already considered it.” His voice was low, a curious combination of resignation, regret and tempered anger, “Katherine hasn’t said a word. Drunken or otherwise.”

“Fair enough.” Considering retreat a perfectly acceptable from of valour and deciding that no good would come from further pushing the tall man, Jackson was prepared to drop the subject. Her name was out there. Johnathon would do the rest, of that, Jackson was certain. Even if it hurt, even if it made things infinitely worse somehow for Johnathon. He always followed through. Always did what he had to. Always did what he thought was right. Jackson admired that about his friend. Even if he didn’t always agree with it.

“I have thought about it.” Came Johnathon's surprising confession, strong hands reached out to grip the ledge of the window, squeezing until the knuckles turned white, “Kate has nothing to do with this.” Johnathon turned around and looked at Jackson,” because if she had said anything to anyone, I wouldn’t have to try and figure it out.” He folded his arms across his chest, “She has all the information she needs to send anyone directly to me.”

Jackson had known that Johnathon had revealed a lot of very personal information to Katherine throughout their relationship, but if Johnathon had told her absolutely everything, even more than Jackson presumed, then he was right. All Katherine need do was offer up Johnathon’s name on the plate. A simple statement of fact. No backdoor enquiries or subtle attempts at subterfuge would be necessary. It would be right there in the open for the taking and using. “Sorry you told her?” Jackson knew of Johnathon’s strong desire to keep so much of his past private. He could count on one hand the number of people that Johnathon had willingly divulged certain specific details too.

Johnathon’s forehead wrinkled and broad shoulders shrugged, “No.” He let out a long breath, “It’s not like it’s a state secret.”

And it wasn’t. It was just one of the many things that he liked to keep private. Private because it had the potential to change people. Johnathon had seen it before. Once people had this information about him or anyone for that matter, they changed. Changed who they were. Changed how they acted. Changed everything. Over time he’d learned that, those people, the ones that did change, were the people he could do without. Johnathon was a lot more selective about who he told and when he told them. Those cards were now deliberately held close to his chest.

Occasionally, someone came into his life where it didn’t matter. When they didn’t change before his eyes. Time. It all came to do time really. It was always the great revealer of character. With him, it seemed to take a long time to arrive at that place where he not just believed, but where he knew, without any hesitation or doubt, that the sharing of those secrets, the type that hide, buried in the deepest places inside your soul, was safe. He still remembered the day he told Katherine. She’d been furious with him. Furious for not telling her sooner, from keeping things from her. Eventually she came to understand why, but in the end, Johnathon wasn’t entirely sure if she ever forgave him for it.

Still, after everything that had happened between them, Johnathon believed that that decision had been a correct one. If the fault lies with anyone, it landed squarely on his shoulders. “I was the one that told her. Not her fault that I did.” He ended quietly.

“So,” Jackson drew the word out, “That’s a no for Kate then?” He raised one dark eyebrow and looked up at his friend, hoping Johnathon would accept the peace offering. He hadn’t meant pick at old wounds particularly a one only recently scabbed over.

Johnathon gave a small snort as one side of his mouth creased into the half smile, “It isn't a yes.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and returned his focus to the screen, watching as the gavel fell and verdict was rendered.

Guilty.

Case Closed.

“Have a nice life in prison asshole.” Jackson murmured at the screen, watching as the bailiff lead the convicted criminal away in shackles.

“Let’s just hope the bastard stays there.” Johnathon pushed his chair in and began gathering his belongings. If he left now, he’d be in time to catch the next flight out to Glasgow. Granted, it was via Dubai, but it would get him to Scotland a good three hours quicker than any other flight avaliable.

And right now, time mattered to him.

It mattered a great deal.

“So where to next?” Jackson knew that with the closure of these cases, the whole team consisting of eight investigators would have little break before moving onto the next case. Sometimes the teams split and went their separate ways, each pair within the team solving their own case, in their own location and sometimes, as was the situation here, the teams consolidated and all worked on a group of cases in the one location. It was all very dependent upon the requirements of the cases involved.

“The others will stay here in Sydney for as long as needed just to tidy up a those cases that we still have pending,” Johnathon said, pushing the top of his briefcase closed with a click, “You and I have, not one, but four missing persons cases to take a look at in New York.”

“New York?” Jackson repeated, unable to hide the shocked surprise from colouring his voice. New York was the last place Jackson thought they would be headed. Katherine was in New York. Granted New York was massive city, with a population in the millions so the chance of randomly running into her would be very slim, but still, New York wasn’t a place he thought Johnathon would want to go and it certainly hadn't been on his private list of possible next case location.

“Yes. New York.” Johnathon restated succinctly, as he reached forward and slid his laptop into its carry bag, “The FBI put a request in six months ago.”

That was true. Now that he thought about it, Jackson recalled the exact request, having taken over some sections of Johnathon’s role within the team during the time his friend had been struggling late last year. It wasn’t that that Johnathon had been neglectful or deficient in this work responsibilities during that time. It had just been something that Jackson had done. Was it necessary, no. Did Jackson think it was the right thing? Fuck yes. Johnathon had needed it. There was always another case, there was only one Johnathon. He had stepped up and taken over what he could, while Johnathon did whatever he needed to do to get through the ugly business with Katherine. It wasn’t as if this was a case with sensitive time pressure. It was well and truly cold and staying that way for an extra six months would have absolutely no effect on the chances of it being solved.

“We have a meeting with the lead agent Monday afternoon.” Johnathon reminded him, "We'll see what they have to say and take it from there."

“At least that gives us a full twenty four hours to hit the town.” Jackson grinned, rubbing his hands together at the prospect of a night on the town.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Johnathon lifted the laptop bag, hoisting the strap over one shoulder, “But I’m flying out to Glasgow on the 1pm flight.”

“Wait,” Jackson said, his brows knit in confusion, “Glasgow? I thought our next case was in New York?”

“It is in New York.” Johnathon confirmed, pulling out his phone and sending one last message to Caitriona, not knowing when she would answer it.

“Wait, what?” Jackson looked at him like he’d grown a third ear, his mind doing a doubletake, “Then why Glasgow? God, please don’t tell me Scotland Yard wants us to work on another peat bog murder thing.” He grimaced as they both headed towards the door, shouldering it open, “I dunno if I can do that smell again. I never got that stink out of the jacket by way, ended up throwing it away. Smelt like road kill in summer, four days past the bloat stage. That shit went in the actual jacket fibres, I swear,” He shook his head, one shoulder hunching up in a shiver at the memory, “Fucking reeked. And don’t even start with the whole freezing rain and no sun thing. They can keep that.”

Johnathon smiled, his footsteps sounding loud as they descended the stairs, finally exiting out onto the busy downtown street. “Good thing you’re not the one going to Scotland then isn’t it. I'll suffer through it and see you in New York on Monday."

“Now you're talking." Jackson retorted as reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, "I’ll take New York over Scotland any day. Though you are going to owe me a night out there. You can't ditch twice man, not cool.”

"You'll manage just fine without me to make a name for yourself here I'm sure." Johnathon commented, knowing full well Jackson's unerring ability to find a bar, casino, night club, local pub, pretty much anywhere really, to find entertainment in some form or another. It generally involved copious amounts liquor and harmless fun, one often being linked to the other where Jackson was concerned. They turned and headed towards the row of white cabs, all lined up in a long que at the rank.

"I'll do my best." Jackson made a cross over his heart, accompanied by a smirk,"It'll be a struggle, but someone has to do it." They stopped at the first one as taxi etiquette demanded," Besides if you are going to hang in the land of the cold and dreary, someone has to the keep up the struggle. Just remember one thing, if we take any cases from Scotland, can we at least delay them until their summer time? Not a fan of the cold weather shit.” Jackson asked, already knowing that he wasn't beyond begging if push came to shove. Anything to get out of going back to that cold miserable place.

“Never said I was going to Scotland for cases.” Johnathon stated as he opened the passenger side door of the nearest cab, while Jackson clamped one white cigarette between his teeth, knowing better than to light it anywhere near the blond detective, who had an inordinate dislike for cigarette smoke.

"So why Glasgow then?"

“I will see you in New York on Monday." Johnathon restated,refusing to answer the question untruthfully and not willing to divulge just yet why he was in fact going to Glasgow. Instead he fastened the seatbelt across his chest, "Call me if there is any problems. In the meantime, try and stay out of trouble.” He gave Jackson a wave and pulled the door shut, ending any further interrogation. 

The taxi pulled out into the traffic, leaving a partially stunned friend in it's wake. "What the hell is in Glasgow?" Jackson yelled after the vehicle, the unlit cigarette hanging forgotten from one edge of his mouth.

If not a case.

Then what on earth was his friend up to.

What could possibly be in Glasgow of all places?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter as promised for this fortnight, so if you missed it, I posted 21 and 22 Friday 6th.
> 
> Thanks again those readers who are hanging in there. Good weekend to you all


	23. Today

Caitriona ended the call and fell back against the soft cushions of the long bench seat that covered the entire width across the back wall of her trailer, tossing the phone onto the nearby table. Voicemail again. She’d been trying to call Johnathon since early that morning with no success. She hadn’t been overly concerned then, thinking that with the time difference, perhaps Johnathon was sleeping, but as the day progressed and she still hadn’t heard anything from him, not even so much as a text, she was beginning to be concerned. Granted, she’d been in production meetings all damn day and hadn’t really been in a position to talk to Johnathon anyway, but that wasn’t doing anything right now to quell the cool feeling that was beginning to settle in the pit of her stomach.

She’d thought things were going well. They had been video calling each other at least once a day since Johnathon had left for Australia and texting whenever they got the chance in between their respective work commitments and the obstacle of the 9 hr time difference. As much as Caitriona was trying to keep a level head, there was no denying that there was a definite connection with the blond haired detective. So much so, that she found herself looking forward to his calls, checking her phone for his messages more often than she ordinarily would have. She scowled and eyed the object now laying innocently silent on the table.

Radio silence was definitely not the direction that she'd thought they were headed in, not when she considered the pattern that had quickly developed between them.The current quiet was disconcerting and provided the ideal opportunity for doubt to creep back into her mind. Had Johnathon changed his mind and had decided that she wasn’t what he was looking for? It was always a possibility. Over the course of the week, Johnathon had told her that his next case was going to be in New York. Yet another continent away from her, and the skeptical part of her mind had quickly determined that the trip to New York could easily be a convenient excuse to end something before it had even begun. For all Caitriona knew, his promise of returning could be a nothing more than empty words. A shiver skittered across her shoulders, not wanting to think the worst of him, but inevitably doing it anyway. She hated this new side of herself, and cursed anyone, everything and the decisions in between. Trying to stop the fears was like trying to hold back the tide. She knew exactly where it was all coming from and yet she was still unable to stop it. That is a direct result when you are used to being disappointed all the time, her mind stated with stunning and painful clarity. Caitriona drew her long legs up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees, staring introspectively into the nothingness of her mind's eye. Why would this time be any different? Why would he be any different?

She was about to further delve into the process of dissecting the toxic thoughts when the screen on her phone suddenly illuminated, vibrating immediately with an incoming text. The caller ID brought her instant relief. There were four messages all from Johnathon. He had apparently had been without phone service for an extended period time and was only now just receiving her voicemails and texts. She scowled at the last message which relayed that he was about to lose service again but that he would see her sometime on Saturday if she wasn’t busy.

She stopped and re read the message.

Saturday.

That was tomorrow.

The doubt was quietly shunted back to its dark corner for the moment, instead replaced by a gentle warmth that started in her stomach and worked its way out. If she wasn’t busy? Caitriona didn’t have any plans but any that she might have had would have been rapidly rescheduled or ignored completely. If Johnathon could fly half way around the world to see her, she would make damned certain that she was free.

Saturday.

Her face split into a brilliant smile.

Johnathon would be in Glasgow on Saturday.

To see her.

She would see him tomorrow.

For what seemed like the millionth time this week, Caitriona shook her head wondering how on earth she’d managed to navigate this particular emotional roller coaster as a teenager. It was taking everything she had now not to feel like she was going insane. She hated to say it, but maybe she was getting too old for this.

“Balfe!” Sam’s deep voice bounced around the walls as the door rattled with a heavy knock, “Are you in there Balfe?”

“You know I am.” She sighed and stood, opening the trailer door. Sam had watched her walk inside barely fifteen minutes. Unless she had developed some type of teleportation skill she was unaware of, then of course she was in here.

“You ready?”

“Ready for what?” Caitriona gave him a confused look, closing the door behind him.

“Ready to go for drinks tonight?” He grinned, fingers curling into fists and giving her two thumbs up, “Bit of a Friday night piss up before the real work starts on Monday.”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Come on now, you can not ditch on us Balfe. Everyone is waiting.”

Sam had been trying to convince her for the better part of two days to go out for an evening on the town. She had been stubbornly refusing him, so he had apparently recruited half a dozen or so other crew members to come along as well, hoping it would help encourage her to join in.

“I’m thinking about just having a quiet night at home Sam.” It wasn’t that she was deliberately trying to be anti-social, it she just didn’t feel like hanging out with Sam right now. They were friends, great friends, but lately it felt like Sam was just trying too hard to include her in his plans. Not that she didn’t appreciate the offer, but Caitriona wasn’t sure if it was because he was genuinely worried for her after the whole Tony thing, or if there was something else, something more related to his confession to her about how he felt and her subsequent rejection, even if it was well meant and as gentle as she could make it. A rejection it remained.

“Oh come on Balfe,” Sam cajoled, “Don’t be a kill joy. It’s Friday night.“ He reached out, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder, looking up from under his brow with his best impression of a hopeful puppy dog waiting for a treat, that he could muster, “It’ll be fun. Just come out for bit? Aye?”

Caitriona hesitated a moment, clearly considering his request.then let out  “Fine.” She said on a long breath, ignoring his victory smile, “But only for a few hours,” she warned, “then I’m going home.”

“For sure.” He agreed, grinning broadly at the chance to spend some more time with her, “See you out the front in fifteen for the cab?”

“Uh huh.” Her answer wasn’t at all convincing but true to her word she met the small group in the studio car park as requested. Squeezing into not one but two cabs, the group headed off towards one of their local haunts, a small bar, with a reasonably quiet atmosphere, that generally had a band playing most nights of the week. Caitriona didn’t mind the place, having been there a number of times before and after a few drinks, she reluctantly admitted that it hadn’t been such a bad idea to go out after all.

As the night had drawn on, the group had begun to thin out, some going home, some moving on to different venues for the remainder of the night.  The hours ticked by, getting significantly later than she'd originally planned, finally leaving only herself, Sam and three other crew members. They’d talked and eaten dinner, drunk more than a few drinks, she’d even, against her better judgement, danced with Sam. More to stop him from continually asking for the remainder of the night than anything else. Though, Caitriona was fairly certain that what Sam considered dancing looked to the rest of the world like he was having some sort of seizure. She could honestly say that she had never met someone so fit, so athletically inclined and sports crazy and yet still be so uncoordinated on a simple dance floor.

Luckily, after enduring the unusual co-ordination of her co-star for three songs at least by her count, Caitriona had been able to hand him over to another member of their group. She preferred to sit on people watch anyway. In between the talking, the drinking, the eating, some more drinking, lots more drinking, she had periodically checked her phone, but of course, found no further messages from Johnathon. 

This time however, there was none of the unhealthy panicked doubt of earlier. This time she knew that Johnathon was simply en route, probably fast asleep in an aircraft seat. She curled a hand around the cool glass on the table and lifted it and taking a long sip. Caitriona hadn’t expected him to be back so quickly, the unpredictable nature of his business making it difficult to form definite plans. The news that he was visiting Glasgow, albeit by way of a roundabout trip to New York, had been the best news she'd had all week. She set the glass back down on the table and ran her finger through the condensation on the glass surface, watching as it gathered into a droplet and trickled down the side of the glass.

Slow, she reminded herself.

Keep your head and take this slow.

Keeping a lid on her excitement was proving to be more difficult the longer she though about it. Excitement and hope were a dangerous combination and she knew all too well what would be the consequence if it all went wrong. Consequences she hoped to avoid by being careful. Holding something back in reserve and being protective of her own well-being was the only way forward for her. It was problematic she knew. She wasn’t overly good at being cautious, but this time, after everything that had happened, she had to be. She was going to be sure this time, before she gave in, before she opened herself up, even if it meant she had to have one foot on the brake until she was certain it was safe.

This time, she was going to be sure.

“Balfe!” Sam slurred loudly as he sat down beside her with all the finesse of a bag of potatoes, his large frame bumping the table in the process causing the few empty glasses on its surface to rattle and rock dangerously back and forth.

“Sam.” She chastised, lifting her glass just in time to rescue it from disaster.

“Whatch doin all over here bys ye self?” He took a long draft from the large glass of beer in his hand, the foam sticking comically to his upper lip.

“Just sitting down for a bit.” She answered slowly, watching with some amusement as Sam attempted to place the glass he was drinking from onto the cardboard coaster on the table. It took three attempts and far more concentration than natural before he finally succeeded. For such a large man Sam’s ability to metabolise alcohol was pathetic and right now it was a wonder to Caitriona that he still had the capacity for speech. “Maybe it's time to call it a night Sam?”

“Nay.” He emitted a low burp that made Caitriona’s nose wrinkle as the smell of second hand beer wafted in her general direction, “Just getting started ye ken?” As if to demonstrate his point he lifted the half filled schooner with infinite care to his mouth and promptly drained it in several long swallows.

“Yes I can see that.” This time Caitriona leaned over and helped Sam put the glass back safely onto the table.

“Have nother drinks with me Cait!” He raised his hand and smiled towards the pretty young blond waitress, who predictably smiled one of those smiles entirely unrelated to the serving of beverages back at him.

“I think you’ve had enough Sam.” While Caitriona wasn’t exactly what you would class as sober, she certainly wasn’t one drink away from passing out like she suspected her co-star was.

Bloodshot blue eyes, half lidded in alcoholic stupor regarded her, “Naw, come on.” He hiccupped, “One more then we will go aye?”

One more turned into four more before they all left the bar. It was almost 2 AM by the time they managed to get a cab, Friday nights being extraordinarily busy and the wait time for a taxi was extensive. As it was, they had all crammed into one car to save waiting for a second. It meant the journey now twice as long as they had been forced to take the circuitous route in order to drop each member of their little party back to their respective homes.

As luck would have it, or not, her apartment was the second last of the designated stops, Sam's home being the only one further out. When the car finally pulled up at her address, she’d bid Sam good night and was about to head up to her apartment when suddenly the taxi door had whipped opened. Sam had staggered out and had promptly been violently ill in the gutter. An argument with the taxi driver, another drunken cajoling request from Sam, and 15 minutes later, Caitriona found herself bodily hauling her co-star up the stairs towards her apartment.

“Just four more steps.” Caitriona breathed, one arm wrapped around Sam’s bulk. Navigating the small staircase was more difficult than one could imagine standing side-by-side with a virtual dead weight that she was sure must weigh at least the proverbial fucktonne at a bare minimum. But what choice did she have?  It was either help him up to her apartment or let him sleep on the sidewalk and since she really didn’t want to wake up to those headlines on the Internet, navigating the small stairway it was.  “Now just lean there for a moment will you.” She propped him against the wall as she dug around in her purse for her keys.

“Not drunk ye ken. Just bit tired.” He slurred on a half grin, already starting to slide unsteadily down the wall.

“I ken you are going to be paying for this in the morning.” She shouldered open the door and grabbed his arm, pulling him upright and staggering inside, making a beeline for the couch. Several wobbly and unbalanced steps later, the back of Sam's knees finally touched the cushioned edge of the seat. Caitriona bent, dropping his heavy weight onto the soft surface, “Thank Christ.” She said straightening and studying his prone form.

“Mmmm.” Sam’s head fell back against the headrest, his eyes heavy and already closing. Clearly he was going nowhere now. She retrieved a blanket from the hall cupboard returned, flicking opening the fabric and draping it over him. “Ye smell good Balfe.” He said, taking a deep breathe as Caitriona leaned over him to tuck in one edge of the blanket.

“And you are drunk.” She commented moved to the end of the couch, lifting Sam's legs up with a grunt and removing his shoes.

“Could ave worked." He babbled drunkenly, "You and me, ye ken.”  The words slurring as he pulled the blanket up around his chin.  

“No.” Caitriona said quietly, “It wouldn’t have.” Sam never heard her answer. His eyes fluttered closed and a soft rhythmic snore started before the last syllable fell from her lips, She shook her head and turned, locking the door, turning out the light and the padded down the hall to her own bedroom. It wouldn’t have worked for a whole list of reasons. The biggest one being that she didn’t feel it. That thing that she couldn’t put her finger on. That thing that she was feeling when Johnathon was around, or just in her thoughts lately. Whatever that unidentifiable thing was, it wasn’t there with Sam.

Caitriona kicked off her shoes and headed for the shower. She felt sorry for Sam that it wasn’t. It was abundantly clear that he still wanted it to be. But it just wasn’t there. Not on her behalf. She’d be there for him as his friend always. That wasn't about to change, but Caitriona hoped, for his own sake, that Sam would figure out how move on and be happy. She turned off the shower and wrapped a large towel around her torso, tucking the edge over her breast as she leaned on the cabinet and brushed her teeth. Caitriona knew Sam was working on it. He’d dated enough women lately to give Caitriona that impression at least. She retrieved her pajamas and stepped into them then flicked off the bathroom light. Sometimes it was just moments tonight, when Sam said something or did something, that worried her that he wasn’t okay.

Caitriona turned the covers back, carefully placed her phone on the beside table, plugging it in to charge. She wasn’t sure what else she could do for Sam honestly. She wanted to help but she couldn’t force herself to feel anything more for him. All she could do, she supposed, was keep doing what she’d already been doing, as frustratingly helpless as that was. The rest was up to Sam. It wasn’t a reason for beginning a new relationship, but, if that were to happen in her life, then perhaps it would be that final nail that Sam was seriously starting to look to her, like he needed. Caitriona gave a small sigh and slipped under the covers, stretching out, her body warmth creating a comfortable pocket in the softness of her bed.

A relationship. She turned on her side, tucking one long arm under her pillow.

Was that what she was expecting?

Was she even ready for that?

Was Johnathon?

Tomorrow she may well be able to find out.

A soft smile curled the edges of her mouth.

Tomorrow.

She let out a long contented deep breath, slipping her hand from beneath the covers and snagging the phone from the beside.

Johnathon would be here tomorrow.

No, she corrected herself as the screen illuminated, displaying the clock.

He would be here today.

Today.

The smile broadened, today, in just a few hours in fact, Johnathon would touch down in Glasgow.  She slid a finger across the screen, accessing her messages. She wasn’t excepting there to be any new messages from Johnathon, but she couldn’t help checking anyway.  As predicted, her inbox was empty. Fingers moved swiftly across the smooth surface, a small ping sounding as she pressed send. 

He wouldn’t receive the message until he landed, she gave a wry smile and put the phone down, snuggling into the covers, but as soon as he landed, it would be right there waiting for him.

Caitriona wondered, as her eyes drifted closed and her breathing began to even out, if he would take her up on her offer.

In the morning, she smiled as sleep finally claimed her, she would find out.


	24. This was it

Johnathon flicked up the collar of his jacket and headed down to the lobby of the Raddison and stepped outside into the cold blustery morning drizzle of the Glasgow city centre. He was tired, exhausted actually. Between staying up late nights to talk to Caitriona, testifying during the day and then travelling for 24 hours straight, without so much as more than ten minutes of sleep, all in an effort to get to Glasgow as quickly as humanly possible, he felt more than a little drained. Still, he sniffed and settled into the seat of the Range Rover he’d managed to hire upon arrival, he was happy that he’d been able to fly into the city on such short notice. It had been an unexpected but welcomed development, even though it meant a lot more airtime for him, it also meant adding another 12 or so hours to the time he had available to him to spend in Glasgow. 

Monday he would have to head to New York to begin work on a new set of cases. The rest of the team would meet him there, each of them making their own way, attending to their own families or other commitments in the short window between cases. While other team members, particularly those with young families, often rotated in and out of the active unit, as team leader, Johnathon didn’t have that luxury. It wasn’t really against any rule or policy, he didn’t have a family or any other real commitments so if his team was involved, Johnathon had to be there with them. It was just how he like to run the unit. He’d never felt comfortable being a satellite leader, only dropping in when he thought they needed him too. Not that his team couldn’t handle things without him, he just preferred to be an active member of the team, getting his hands as dirty as everyone else in the unit as it were. It meant a lot more time away, but lately that hadn’t really been a problem, more of a blessing than anything else out.

Until now. 

Now, he actually had someone he wanted to be with and for the first time in a very long time, Johnathon almost wished that he didn’t have the responsibility and time pressures of another round of cases coming on so quickly. Still, he mused, as he reached back and buckled the seat belt across his chest, the mechanism sliding neatly into place with a soft click, New York wasn’t for another two days. Two days to as he pleased. He already had plans for today. He smiled and turned the key, stirring the engine into life. Today he only had one thing in mind. Or rather one person on his mind. 

Caitriona. 

He’d made a promise to her and he had no intention of breaking it. Even if it meant going without sleep, dealing with inconvenient time zones, sitting for endless hours on aircraft battling travel sickness, or crisscrossing the world in the hope of gaining a few additional hours with her. He had said he was coming back as soon as he could and he’d meant it. He had a small window between this case and the next and Johnathon was determined to make this happen. It hadn’t all gone as smoothly as he hoped. Through no fault of his own, he had lost three of those hard earned extra hours in delays and transfers. Finally he’d made it to Glasgow, booked into the hotel, had a quick shower and now, was headed back out again. 

He reached into his pocket and slid out his phone. Opening the hard cover he picked out a folded piece of paper, kept safely tucked away, pressed flat against the dark screen. Caitriona’s address, scribed in a neat precise hand on piece of hotel stationery, along with the words, ‘In case you Are ever in Glasgow’, signed with a rather large C, complete with a small flourish on the up curve of her initial. It had been handed to him by the desk clerk as he had checked out of the hotel in the early hours of the morning prior to his flight. Johnathon smiled to himself, wondering just when Caitriona had time to do that. In any case, he was infinitely glad that she had. 

He was about to reverse out of the car park when a thought crossed his mind. He glanced at the phone a moment, privately debating if he should at least message Caitriona before showing up on her doorstep. Good manners strongly suggested that he should. Though, in her last message to him, Caitriona had been pretty insistent that she wanted to see him as soon as he arrived and got settled. In fact, he pondered as he recalled the exact wording of her message in his mind’s eye, Caitriona had specifically stated that she didn’t care what time it was, that Johnathon should make his way to her apartment as soon as he was able. She hadn’t known it, but in that simple little combination of characters on a screen, Caitriona had unwittingly given Johnathon the confirmation to something that he had been ruminating over all week. He had wondered if Caitriona had been feeling the same attraction that he’d sensed growing between them the more time they spent together. Even if a good deal of that time had been battling the tyranny of transcontinental distance. Just the thought of what might be brought a soft smile to his face and made the endless miles of sitting on aircraft and all the exhaustion he might have felt fall away, replaced with the muted excitement of anticipation of what the next few days might bring. 

Still, confirmation message from Caitriona or not, Johnathon decided as he reached for his phone, he couldn’t just rock up at her doorstep without at least sending a message first. It just didn’t seem right. He shot off a message and waited a moment.

Nothing. 

She could be still asleep, he reasoned and slowly reversed the car out of the assigned park, stopping in the middle of the empty laneway waiting a few moments for Caitriona’s reply. As it turned out, he waited ten minutes without a single hint of a sound from Caitriona. Johnathon maneuvered the car to one side and decided that calling Caitriona would be a better idea. Dialing her number, he rested the phone to his ear. 

Voicemail.

Blonde brows furrowed and he stared at the screen a moment, slightly confused. He tried again with the same result. Voicemail. Johnathon let out a breath and tucked the phone into his pocket. Voicemail could mean any number of things. Not necessarily bad ones. Maybe a meeting. Not likely at this time of the morning and on a weekend no less. No, he decided, more than likely the culprit was that her phone had gone flat or had been left on silent. 

It was easy enough to do. Hell, Johnathon had done that himself on many occasions, only discovering it by accident when checking the device sometime later and finding a bulging inbox of messages and missed calls. It had to be something simple like that he mused, dismissing the wisps of negative thoughts that had begun to swirl around his mind, threatening to coalesce and form into solid ideas. If Caitriona didn’t want to see him she would have said. Right? There was no reason for her to avoid talking to him. Right?

He gave a short nod to himself and gripped the wheel, considering his options. Press on with his plan to go to her or wait here, on the side of the road until Caitriona messaged him back, whenever that might be. Waiting didn’t seem overly appealing, not after the effort he’d gone to gain extra moments. Wasting them here seemed utterly pointless. Besides, he reasoned as he pulled back on the main road, following the GPS towards Caitriona’s apartment, he still had a 25 minute drive ahead of him. Maybe she’d text him on the way. Failing that, he could always apologise for not calling sooner if he needed to when he arrived. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a plan. Without warning, his stomach grumbled loudly. A tell-tale result of not having eaten since he’d inhaled a rather dubious looking sandwich at the Sydney airport more than 24 hours ago. Johnathon, despite the frequency with he had do it, wasn’t the best flyer, in fact he was a downright terrible on aircraft, frequently afflicted by severe travel sickness. Eating was not something that he ever attempted while actually in the air, not that he felt hungry on planes anyway. Once on the ground however, it was entirely different situation and right now, he was positively ravenous. Lifting a finger and tapping on the GPS, he found a small café on the way that he hoped would be open. Showing up with food might help offset arriving unannounced. 15 minutes later, a large paper bag curled over at the top resting safely in the passenger seat beside him, emitting the delicious aroma of a freshly cooked hot breakfast, including an inordinately large coffee cup filled to the brim with the dark liquid and an accompanying selection of savoury crêpes that he thought Caitriona might enjoy, he was heading down the mostly empty streets, studiously following the path displayed on the small interior screen. 

The streets here were similar to London, perhaps slightly wider, all lined with parked cars, obviously belonging to the residents that lived in the many apartments and small town houses that filled either side of the road, making its width similar to that of a one-way street. At least, Johnathon considered quietly as the vehicle slowly crawled along a suburban street, the roads here didn’t twist and turn and randomly terminate when you least expected it London style. The slightly robotic voice informed him that, according to the GPS route he was religiously following, Caitriona’s apartment should be no more than 100 metres down the road, on the left.

Slowly gliding the car to a stop, Johnathon cast an eye over the high set brick building and double checked the address. The last thing he wanted to do was to end up knocking on some stranger’s door and make a right fool of himself. Confirming that the address was correct, Johnathon reached over and picked up the paper bag. He shouldered the door open and stepped out to the damp morning air, the light drizzle leaving small dark splotches in his leather coat as he closed the door with a click and headed up the small paved path towards the apartment complex door. The long breath he blew out, did little to calm his nerves, the warm air clouding in front of him in the cold morning air. Johnathon was a highly trained detective and had been in more stressful situations than he knew what to do with, but this, the wondering if he was doing the right thing, the hoping everything would fall the way he wanted it to, the nagging concern that he was making another mistake, the growing hope that he wasn’t and the absolute unknown of what might lie ahead was all working together to make his mouth go dry and his heart pick up pace, gently thrumming away with antcipation in his chest. 

Anticipation and hope.

A strong combination if there ever was one. Johnathon was almost glad that he had the rough rolled top of the paper bag to wrap his fingers around. He stopped at the security door, eyes running down the list of the numbers. No names as he expected, just numbers by floor and apartment. He was about to press the intercom button of Caitriona’s apartment when a tall man, obviously a fellow resident of the complex, pushed the door open. Johnathon politely stepped to one side, one strong hand catching the edge of the door, holding it open and giving the man a slight nod as he passed in front of him. Stepping inside, Johnathon let the door close behind him with a gentle click, then he turned and headed up the short flight of steps. According to the note she’d left him, Caitriona’s apartment was on the third floor, the last door at the end of the hall. His footsteps sounded loud in the quietly hallway and he closed the distance, finally drawing to a halt in front of her door. 

Apartment 314. 

Johnathon stood for a moment in the quiet stillness, blue eyes regarded the door. He shifted his shoulders in his jacket, lifted his hand, stopping just short of the hard surface of the closed door. 

This was it. 

If he was ever going to turn around, now was the time. 

If this was a mistake, now was the time to prevent it.

He shuffled on his feet and squeezed the top of the paper bag. 

And if it wasn’t?

If he was ever going to know the answer to that, this was his chance.

He closed his eyes and took a deep clearing breath. 

If this was ever going to be something he wanted, it had to start.

Blue eyes slowly opened, focused and clear. 

There was only one way to know for sure.

Johnathon softly cleared his throat, sent a silent prayer skyward to whoever might be listening and with a last fleeting hesitation, fingers curled into a fist as he knocked. 

Then waited.

This was it.


	25. Together

Caitriona jerked awake, her hand blindly searching for the offensively screaming object somewhere on her bedside table. “Fuck.” She cursed, fumbling and finally silencing the alarm she’d set on her phone. 4 am. Caitriona blinked slowly and rolled onto her back as she stretched out in the warm softness of the self created comforter cocoon she was currently safely ensconced in. The good weather of yesterday had turned, she reflected, her eyes straining in the dim light as she watched the gently falling rain trickle down the clear panes of glass. She lifted her head from the pillow and immediately regretted it. Her eyes closed reflexively against the pounding her in her head. “Jesus,” She murmured, throwing an arm across her eyes, cursing whoever it was that had the idea to drink that last round or three of whiskey that she’d stupidly allowed herself to be talked into. She laid quietly for a few moments, waiting for her head to settle before. It wasn't as accommodating as she wanted it to be though and Caitriona actually thought seriously about getting up and taking something for the persistent dull ache that lingered somewhere just behind her eyes. She didn't move though, finding the alluring warmth of the bed, far too much to overcome. Instead she let out a low sigh and turned on her side, wishing she hadn’t forgotten about the alarm, having set it earlier in the day for her usual wake up time for filming next week. 

Still, she grinned, it wasn’t all bad. The early hour did happen to coincide with the landing time of a certain handsome Australian detective. Speaking of which, she lifted the phone into her eye line, squinting at the bright light as the screen illuminated. Johnathon should have landed by now. The flight was scheduled for 3 am. Finding no message from him, she decided to check his flight status online. 

Shit. 

Delayed.

Caitriona slowly dragged herself upright and scrubbed a hand across her eyes, blinking to clear the last remnants of sleep and re-read the information, making sure she hadn’t made a mistake. Three hours! Thoroughly disgruntled, Caitriona threw the phone onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, scowling. If the information on the website was correct, and she had no reason to think that it wasn’t, Johnathon wouldn’t even arrive in Glasgow until 6 at the very earliest. That completely dashed any ideas she might have had for an early morning rendezvous and a complete day together. Caitriona sighed loudly, given this new information she had little choice but to resign herself to the fact that she would probably not even see Johnathon until around mid-morning at best. Probably closer to lunch by the time, she figured, he landed and got himself sorted with the hotel and what not. Best laid plans, she snarked to herself silently, settling back down, pulling the warm blankets up over her shoulders, tucking her hand beneath her head. Another few hours of sleep might do her more harm than good, considering she was still half hung over. As to which half exactly that was, was currently still up for debate, she thought, yawning and closing her eyes.

It seemed like she’d only been asleep for mere minutes when for the second time that morning she was jerked out from a sound slumber. This time it was due to the insistent urging of one very large hand resting on her shoulder, shaking her with more force than she really needed.  
“Balfe! Wake up will ye.” Sam’s voice bounced painfully around the inside of her head.  
“Jesus, what?” She grouched groggily as she turned over rubbing her eyes, while her mind frantically tried to catch up with current events.  
“Painkillers Balfe.” He said, slumping on the edge of her bed, cradling his head in his hands, “God please tell me you have some.”  
“In the bathroom medicine cabinet.” She lifted a hand and pointed in the general direction of the bathroom, thankful that the sickening movement and loud obnoxious tones had ceased. She heard Sam take a step before he stopped as if running into an imaginary wall, the colour draining from his face, “Oh Christ...” The words barely escaped his lips, before he took off, darting across the room, hand over his mouth towards her bathroom. Caitriona’s nose screwed up in disgust as the sounds of violent retching reached her ears. Clearly Sam was also regretting that last round of whiskey right about now. Serve himself right, she mused behind closed eyes, half listening to the goings on in the bathroom and half debating with herself whether to get up and check if he was all right. The sound of the toilet flushing, followed by the heavy, somewhat disjointed footfall on the hardwood floor made the decision for her.  
“I think I’m dying.” Sam muttered as he collapsed across the end of her bed, getting a growl and a small kick in the ribs as Caitriona was forced to pull her legs up, to save them being squashed.  
“Can you do it someplace else?” She glared at him then turned over, “Preferably quietly.”  
“Harsh Balfe.” He slung an arm over his eyes and took a few deep breaths, “Very harsh.”  
The scent of unwashed male, second hand smoke and day old alcohol tinged with the sharp undertones of vomit wafted her way, “Christ!” She lifted a hand to her nose and shot him an accusatory glare, “Is that you?”  
His turned and sniffed his armpit, trying unsuccessfully to stop the resulting gagging sound.  
“Off!” She shoved a foot in his direction, outraged, “Now.”  
“What!” Sam defended, only just having time to catch himself as he was unceremoniously unbalanced from the end of the bed by a well placed kick, plonking down heavily on his backside on the unforgiving surface of the hardwood floor, “Nothing I can do about it. I dinna have a spare set of clothes in my wallet you know.” He cradled his head piteously in his hands.  
“Not my problem Heughan.” Caitriona flicked the covers back, still shielding her nose as she stood and headed towards the walk in robe, “If you weren’t utterly wasted to the point of immobility last night, this wouldn’t be an issue.” She grabbed a fresh towel from the stack and held it out towards him, “At least shower will you, before you pollute any more of my apartment.”  
“Fine.” Sam grouched, grunting with effort as he hauled himself to his feet, waiting a moment for his to stop spinning as he straightened to his full height.  
“And don’t make a mess in there either.” She warned, as Sam sulked passed, yanking the towel from her hand with a scowl. She’d shared a trailer with Sam for a time at the very beginning of their very first season and knew from experience that neat and tidy were not adjectives that could ever be applied to that man, let alone with the hang over hindrance of the minute. “I’m serious Sam.” Caitriona called over her shoulder as she padded back towards the softness and warmth of her bed.  
“I’m serious Sam. Blah blah.”  
Caitriona rolled her eyes as she heard Sam mimic her words sarcastically from the bathroom followed by the sound of the shower running. She flopped back down onto the soft surface of the bed, thankful for the comfort and warmth. Honestly, Sam could be such a man child. It could be charming at times, but it did tend to get old pretty darn quickly too. She tugged the covers up over her shoulders, tucking her hands under her chin and eyeing the dim early morning light that was only just now beginning to filter through her bedroom window. The inky blackness of night was still stubbornly holding on, trying fruitlessly to prevent the coming of the day. A soft smile split her face thinking about what the later hour might have brought her closer to.  
Johnathon.  
Hopefully sooner rather than later, providing the airline industry did its bit and cut out the delaying bullshit of earlier. Actually, she thought, sitting up and hunting around in the bed for her phone, now was as good as anytime to check his flight status again. “Where in the fuck..” She cursed, rifling through the covers and lifting pillows. She was sure she’d dropped the thing in bed beside her last night. Frustrated, she dragged herself out of bed, and began searching in earnest, effectively stripping the bed and shaking each blanket, sheet and pillow in an effort to find the elusive device.  
“Balfe?” Sam reappeared, towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his damp idiotically scruffed up hair, “Can I throw these in the washing machine.” He screwed up his nose, holding the offending objects away from him, “Canna stand putting them on right now.”  
“Uh huh.” Caitriona said absently as she straightened, her hands on her hips, surrounded by a rough heap of bedding now laying haphazardly on the floor. Sam watched her a moment and debated asking her what in the hell she was doing, but the impending urgency to rid himself of his clothes that reeked like something at died in them, won out and he headed towards the small laundry room without further comment.  
Caitriona crouched down and began checking the small space between mattress and beside table.  
“There you are you little bastard.” She reached out a long arm, finally snagged the device, still not entirely certain how the devil the thing managed to find its way down there in the first place. Caitriona pressed the home button, expecting to see the screen instantly light, instead she was greeted by nothing but an empty black. She shook her head and wondered what else was going to go wrong in the next five minutes. She hoped the wretched thing was just flat. She had meant to plug it back in after she’d last used it to check on Johnathon’s flight. Hopefully lack of power was the problem and the thing wasn’t irreparably broken from its little expedition from bed to floor during the night.  
She plugged the cable in and set the phone down, letting out a small breathe of relief as the red charging light illuminated. That was a good start at least, she mused, knowing it would take a few minutes of charging before she could even attempt to power it on. While she waited, Caitriona decided that since there was absolutely no way she’d be going back to bed now, not with her bedding looking like it was the survivor of a natural disaster, that a hot shower might help perk her up a bit and help wash away the fog of last night.  
“Hey Caitriona?” Sam called from somewhere down the hall as she headed into the bathroom, “Which one is the washing machine again.”  
“Man child,” She murmured.  
"What?"  
“The one on the right.”Caitriona called back and stepped into the shower, letting out a contented breath as the streams of hot water hit her. Resting a hand on the wall and closing her eyes, her head lulled forward, long hair falling around her shoulders as the heat seeped into her skin. It felt better than good and for a long series of moments she just luxuriated in the feeling of it, before she got down to the business of getting clean. Body scrubbed and hair washed, she reveled in the warm relaxed feeling for just a bit longer before she reluctantly twisted the tap and shut the heated water off. Wrapping a towel around herself and tucking the edge across her breasts, she padded quietly back into the bedroom, intent on solving the current phone problem. She bent over and retrieved it from the bedside, then tentatively pressed the power button, happy when screen instantly turned brilliant white and began loading its start-up routine. A lone droplet from her damp hair dripped onto the screen as she waited. Caitriona was just brushing it away with the pad of her thumb when the tell-tale vibration of an avalanche of incoming messages almost made her drop the thing. As it was, she barely had time to get a secure grip on its edge to stop another unplanned excursion to the hardwood floor.  
A broad smile split her face as she recognising the sender. Tucking several damp strands of dark hair behind an ear, Caitriona lifted the phone and began listening to the messages Johnathon had left on her voicemail. She was half way through the very first message when she was vaguely aware of the sound of a knock on her front door.  
“I’ll get it.” Sam’s voice floated back to her, not overly paying him much attention, her thoughts firmly elsewhere. In one ear, she could the gentle deep voice of Johnathon, quietly informing her that he was on his way to her apartment and in the other, she could hear the mechanical clicking and rattling’s of the locks opening on her front door.  
It was at this point her mind connected the two and her stomach dropped.  
“No. Sam. Wait.” Caitriona pelted down the hallway, skidding to a halt as she watched the door issue inward. “Fuck.” She breathed as she stood, wrapped in nothing more than a towel, wet hair dripping down her back, caught between being ecstatically happy to see Johnathon and simultaneously wanting the floor to somehow open and swallow her up.  
Clear blue eyes flicked back and forth from Sam’s half naked form standing in her doorway to her own. One neat blonde eye brow arched in question as Johnathon’s gaze finally settled on her face.  
“Oh, you ordered breakfast?” Sam tossed over his shoulder at her, completely oblivious to situation unraveling before him, “Good thinking love.” He helpfully commented as he leaned forward and took the bag from Johnathon’s hand, “I’ll even pay.” Sam turned and headed towards the lounge, his wallet and phone laying on the coffee table, an awkward stunned silence descending around them.

Caitriona swallowed, trying to ignore the dreadful sinking feeling in her stomach and the pounding in her ears as she gathered her scattered wits, hoping to god things didn’t look as bad as she seriously thought they did. “Hi.” She said tentatively, taking the last few steps and drawing level with the door opening, leaning on the frame for support, almost afraid to saying anything else in case it made the situation worse. Though at this point, she was beginning to think that probably wasn’t possible.  
“Hello Caitriona.” Johnathon’s voice was casually calm. Whatever she might have imagined his reaction to be, this was not it. Accusations, anger, even blame perhaps, anything but calm. He had to be thinking what she worried he was. She would have if she had of been him. Given the severely incriminating visual information, how could he not? Regardless of however innocent the actual situation might have been.  
“Should I come back later?” He asked rather conversationally, his deep voice, though soft, almost seemed to echo in the starkly empty hallway.  
“No.” Caitriona blurted, her blue eyes frantically searching his, “Don’t go just..” Caitriona stopped, all too aware of Sam’s curious gaze now boring into her back. No doubt there would be questions to answer from there later as well, but right now, all she wanted to do was get somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t quite so public and explain.  
Explain to Johnathon before it was too late. The hallway of her apartment building was not the place to have that discussion. Particularly not dressed in a bath towel that barely went to her knees. “Don’t go. Could you,” Caitriona shook her head, trying to reorder her chaotic thoughts into some semblance of a coherent sentence, “I mean, would you like to come in? So we can at least talk? In private?” Her voice wavered as she searched his face, “Please?” She opened the door wider, hoping to Christ that he would accept the offer. The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity before Caitriona saw his fair head give the slightest of nods and he began to move, crossing in front of her as he stepped inside the apartment. “Everything alright Cait?” Sam called after her. Watching, utterly confused as Caitriona quietly ushered the tall stranger down the short hallway towards her bedroom.  
“It’s fine Sam.” She answered, in a tone that left no uncertainty whatsoever that now was not the time for Sam Heughan to stick his nose into her business. In any case, Sam never got the chance, Caitriona swinging the bedroom door closed behind her with a soft clock. She turned to face Johnathon, who was standing patiently in the centre of the room. She nibbled her lip nervously and pushed of the door stepping towards him then cringing as as her eyes fell on the crumpled upturned pile of bedding, looking every bit as disastrously incriminating as the scene she’d just shut outside and knowing full well that Johnathon would have seen it as he entered the room.  
Christ.  
Of all the ways she thought this day might have gone, none of them had been like this.  
Her heart was utterly thundering in her chest as she took another step towards him, apologetic blue eyes lifting to his, “It isn’t what it looks like.” She lifted her hands in front of her, “I swear Johnathon. Sam is my costar. I had drinks with everyone from work last night and Sam was too drunk to make it home. So I said he could sleep here on the couch.” The words spilled out in a breathless rush, “Your flight was delayed and Sam reeked, so I made him shower and he is washing his clothes. Then my phone went flat,” She gesticulated wildly towards the pile of bedding as she tried desperately to explain, “And then I lost the thing in the bed, which meant I had to tear the bed apart looking for it so. I figured I would have a shower and that’s how I ended up like this.” She pointed to the towel, her face flaming as she realised the picture she was presenting. "Sam slept on the couch, passed out really. I know it looks bad," She finished, running a shaky hand through her hair, "But it's not at all what it looks like it."  
“Caitriona?” His voice was soft and deep and drifted down through her chaotic thoughts, as he closed the distance between them, warm hands reaching out and settling on her forearms, “Breathe.”  
Her heart felt like it was beating somewhere in her throat as Caitriona slowly took a breath and then another, gradually steadying herself on what felt like very uncertain ground that could fall out from beneath her feet at any time. “I know how this looks.” She tried again, trying subdue her characteristic panic babble, “I do. We’re both in towels and the bed looks like,” She stopped and shook her head,“I wouldn’t blame you for thinking it is exactly how it looks.” She glanced down at her feet and let out a frustrated breath. Explaining the truth was proving to be far harder than any lie she could have manufactured. "It's not what it looks like, but," She swallowed loudly and hoped that the tears that had been threatening to fall held off for a just few moments longer, "I'll understand if you need to go." She swallowed loudly, focusing on the floor, unable to look at him knowing this was probably it. And worse, the whole cluster fuck was entirely her own doing. If only she had not gone out last night. If only she had sent Sam home. If only she had checked her messages sooner. 

“Caitriona?" Johnathon called quietly, interrupting her self flagellation ducking his head and waiting for her to meet his gaze,"Co-star?”  
“Co-star." She nodded, "Just co-star. Nothing more." She looked up at him, “I promise.” Meaning every single syllable with a definiteness that she wasn't sure she’d ever voiced before. “Is there any way,” She asked after long series of moments, taking the fact that he was he still standing here with her as a good sign, “Any way at all, that we could just erase the last few minutes and start this day over?” 

Blue eyes locked with her own, one corner of his handsome mouth twitched into a soft smile. He didn’t answer her but instead slowly leaned in, stopping close enough for her to feel the gentle warmth of his breath on cheek, studying her eyes at very close distance, one hand lifting to gently cup her cheek before his mouth found hers, kissing her soft and slow. Caitriona let out a small sigh as her eyes closed and she leaned into him, a wave of utter relief flooding through her, almost taking her to her knees.  
“Hello Caitriona.” He murmured against her lips slowly drawing the kiss to a gentle close then resting his forehead against hers.  
“Hello Johnathon.” She breathed from behind closed eyes, wrapping her arms around the solid security of his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug, letting the sheer feel of him fill her senses and calm her frazzled nerves.  
Strong arms surrounded her and for the moment, everything that had come before didn't matter. The rest of world fell away, leaving just the two of them, quietly holding each other in the silence of the room. 

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this one took so long to post. Technical issues. Next Chapter should be out in around three or so weeks.  
> Think it's time Johnathon and Caitriona made themselves some rules cause they're a gonna need them if they are to make this work I think. What do you all think? :)
> 
> Cheers everyone and have a great day.


	26. Again

The door clicked shut, leaving him standing, leaning on the kitchen counter, staring at the closed surface. What the fuck as going on! Who the hell was that guy and more importantly, what the hell was he to Caitriona? Sam lifted a large hand, massaging his temples, searching his memory for any recollection of the strange man that was worryingly, currently residing in Caitriona’s bedroom. Drawing nothing but blanks, he stalked over the couch and plonked down heavily, cradling his aching head.   
This wasn’t going the way it was supposed to. 

At all. 

Not that he’d really had a specific plan, but anytime Sam found himself alone with Caitriona was a good one, particularly given that lately, opportunities for such encounters had been exceedingly rare. Part of it was him, he knew, but a larger part had been Caitriona. She hadn’t been her usual social self and Sam hadn’t wanted to push it. Last night, the old Caitriona had been starting to show signs of reappearing. She’d been relaxed, he’d thought, no longer haunted by the memory of that prick and how it had all shaken out in the end. The night had been a good one and this morning, Caitriona’s familiar chiding aside, had continued that trend. He felt that connection between them that had been dampened in recent weeks.

Sam leaned back, letting his head rest against the cushions, staring at the spackled white ceiling. Someone else, a total stranger for that matter, suddenly being thrust into the mix had not only complicated matters, but Sam found it as confusing as hell and entirely uncomfortable. Maybe the guy was some relative that Sam hadn’t met yet or, his brows contracted, maybe he’s one of her modelling friends. God only knew they were always popping up here and there when one least expected it. 

No, he decided after a few moments of introspection. The guy didn’t seem like a model to him. Sam wasn’t sure why exactly. It something in the way the man carried himself, coupled with something in the way Johnathon had looked at him, almost as if he had been silently appraising the situation. Almost academic in nature, similar to the way Sam imagined mathematicians looked at some complex problem or another, trying to figure a solution. 

Johnathon. 

The name rattled around in Sam's head. He was positively sure he’d never heard Caitriona ever mention that name to him. Not in the long hours on set, not in the mind numbingly boredom of international flights, not even during the days of never ending press tours, nor in the half a dozen times he’d met her family or the positive myriad of friends and acquaintances that she had. 

Not once had she ever mentioned a Johnathon to him. 

Maybe he was one of Tony’s friends. His mind seized on that idea. Probably come over here to try and convince her to come back. “Good fucking luck with that,” he spat out loud, knowing full well exactly what Caitriona thought of Tony now. She hadn’t been entirely forth coming but what she had said, had told Sam all he needed to know. It was never happening. Strange visitor or not. In fact, if this man turned out to be one of Tony’s flunkies then Sam fully expected he wouldn’t be here long. He sat up and studied the closed bedroom door, with a private gleeful air of anticipation. Any minute now. Caitriona would shunt this idiot to the curb and it would be situation normal. Things would go back to the way they were. They would start filming and they would fall into their normal pattern. 18hr days together, a good amount of offset time together. Things would stabilise and with any luck, if he could just keep his shit together, maybe Caitriona would change her mind about them. 

That couldn’t happen while Mr Unknown was still here however. The longer Sam waited for that door to open, the more doubts began to manifest. Caitriona should have kicked him out by now. The more Sam thought about it, the more convinced Sam became that this guy didn’t look like one of Tony’s normal crowd. He was too, Sam’s mind tried to put his finger on the word and failed. He almost wanted to say manly but was strangely reluctant to do so.

Whatever it was, Sam wasn’t impressed. 

He shot a dark glance to the closed bedroom door. He wasn’t much impressed with being shut out either, no matter who the unidentified party was. What the hell was Caitriona thinking, taking him in there? 

Alone!

It was just stupid as far as Sam was concerned. Stupid, annoying, confusing and frustrating. He stood up, hands lightly clenched by his side as he considered his next move. He couldn’t just sit here. The guy could be a murderer or drug dealer or something. His mind whirled, going from one extreme to the other, fueled by the unknown and a possessive jealous streak a mile wide hiding quietly under the harmless guise of friendship.

Friends were supposed to look after friends and if Sam was sure of nothing else, he was at least certain that some level of a close friendship still existed between them. Surely that fact alone gave him checking in privileges. His mind debated that idea for several long seconds, teetering on the brink between keeping out of it and not, interrupting and not. He knew Caitriona probably wouldn’t want him to, but since when did she know everything good for her.

With a nod of his head and significantly aided by the urgings of curiousity, protectiveness and a large helping veiled jealousy, Sam walked down the hall, deliberately keeping his footfall as quiet as possible, stopping and standing completely still. He could still turn around, he supposed, accepting the small possibility that he might be jumping the gun. Sam didn’t know much about about the act of murdering someone but he thought it wouldn’t be that easy to do completely silently. Particularly not Caitriona. He’d heard her scream on set and had found she had quite the set of lungs on her. Still, he let out a long breathe, Caitriona may well have said she was fine, but that was at least five minutes ago. He stared at the wooden barrier separating him from the woman he cared about. Anything could have happened since then. Sam held his breath and listened carefully. He could just make out the soft tones of their muted voices. Not raised, but not quite loud enough to be able to accurately hear enough to understand what they were saying. It was infuriating, he scowled and privately debated again whether he should turn around and go back to the lounge, but his large feet remained still, glued to the spot, acutely aware that hushed voices were now ominously quiet. 

That did it. 

Sam lifted a hand and knocked loudly, barely waiting a scant few seconds before he gripped the brass handle and pushed open the door urgently. “Cait, everything o-” He suddenly stopped short, his mind still reeling, frantically trying to make sense of the image before him. Caitriona was leaning into the tall man, her slender arms wrapped securely around his neck, soundly kissing him. Sam didn’t quiet know where to look as their hands fell from each other.The realisation that their moment had been interrupted and was no longer private.

“Sam! Jesus!” Caitriona yelped, slightly startled, a red hint of a blush creeping up her neck as she took a step away from Johnathon. “What do you want?” She said shortly, after gathering her scattered wits and clearing her throat.  
“Nothing.” Came the unrepentant reply, as Sam eyed Johnathon, “Just making sure you were okay.” He was a physically big human being and was generally used to people backing away when he stood to his full height and gave them the look he was currently shooting on full beam Johnathon’s way. He was almost daring the tall blond man to look away first and was surprised when he didn't.   
“For the third time Sam,” Caitriona enunciated clearly, her own eyes snapping at warning at him, “I’m fine.” She stepped in front of Johnathon, fully aware of the conversation shooting back and forth silently between the two men. She reached for the edge of the door, half pushing Sam back through the door and sending an apologetic look over her shoulder to Johnathon, whose eyes instantly dropped and found hers before she turned to deal with Sam.  
“Cait. Wait.” Sam protested pushing back against the door, “Who the hell is that?” He ground out from between clenched teeth, not at all happy at being dismissed so easily yet again. Even less so, given what he’d just walked in on.  
“A friend.”  
“A friend?” Sam looked skeptically from Caitriona to Johnathon, “A friend from where?”  
“Look,” Caitriona hissed, leaning in close to him and lowering her voice, “I’m fine. Everyone is fine. He is a friend and the rest,” She paused, blue eyes snapping, “isn’t your business.” She tugged on the towel, readjusting the folded edges and preventing it from slipping lower, “Just go back to the lounge will you.” With that Caitriona turned on her heel and started to push the door shut, “And for god’s sake, get some clothes on.” The door closed with a soft click, leaving Sam once more standing alone in the hallway. 

A friend? A friend no one had heard of. He just walks in and gets a greeting like that? Pretty fucking close friend. How had he now known about this? He and Caitriona talked often, almost every day in fact. Particularly over this last week when they were gearing up for a new season. To suddenly have a seemingly random bloke show up, at Caitriona’s apartment door no less, made absolutely no sense to him. Why had Caitriona not said something? Even something in passing? While Sam had accepted the decision when Caitriona had said she only wanted friendship from him, he hadn’t completely given up on the idea that someday, somehow, she might want something more. Caitriona hadn’t said she was seeing someone else and the lack of such as admission had been unwittingly feeding his hopefulness. He almost wished he wasn’t like that, wasn’t so optimistic, that he could just flick some magical switch and turn that feeling off. He had tried. Lord knew, he’d tried. He’d tried seeing other women, he'd tried getting involved in various charity gigs, he'd tried working out more, spending an inordinate amount of time at the gym, all in an effort to distract himself.   
Sometimes it worked, and sometimes, like this morning, when it had just been the two of them, it failed epically. Reigniting that thought that maybe Caitriona would change her mind. That he hadn’t lost her completely. That maybe she’d finally see what had been in front of her the entire time. His hands clenched, fingers balling into a tight fist. The image of the Johnathon and Caitriona together in that room, flashed across the back of his eyes. His hopes shattering a little more each time it replayed in his mind’s eye. The washing machine beeped as it finished its cycle, gratefully drawing Sam's attention, even if only for a for seconds. “Get some clothes on?” Sam mumbled as he threw the damp, though now clean clothing from one machine to the other, “Get some clothes on. Says the woman prancing around in nothing but a towel.” He slammed the dryer closed, hard enough to make the machine shake on its rubber footings. Sam let out a frustrated breath. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on with her. He skulked back to the kitchen. Maybe he should just leave. Leave the whole thing behind. 

All of it. 

Glasgow. 

Acting. 

Caitriona. 

The lot. 

He’d thought about ending Outlander, truly he had, in those dark moments after Caitriona had turned him down. He had thought about leaving and moving completely on, to hell with all of it. He hadn’t though, stubbornly determined, to focus instead from that day to now on just being her friend. To be there for her whenever she needed him. To make sure that she was doing okay. He’d thought he’d been doing a good job. Giving her the time and space he thought she had needed but still including her whenever could. He’d known she’d acted strong. Anyone with eyes had seen that the breakup with Tony had taken its pound of flesh and left behind a good serving of regret. He shot look back at the closed door. Clearly she was over all that now. “Nice of her to tell me.” He mumbled. 

That was the worst of it.  
The stinging feeling that came with thinking that whatever this was, between her and Johnathon, whether it be friend, fuckbuddy or whatever he was and whatever Caitriona was doing, she evidently didn’t think enough of Sam to at least tell him about it. Not even in passing word or hint of an idea. Nothing. Sam sat down at the kitchen counter and picked up one of the warm packages, sniffing it. 

Breakfast. 

He shook his head disgustedly and sent another dark thought Johnathon’s way. Shows up, looking good and bringing her breakfast. 

Fucker. 

Sam peeled back one corner of the wrapping. It was exactly the type of food that Caitriona would like. “Sneaky bastard.” He mumbled then considered his next action. Without a single hint of remorse, he shrugged and took a healthy bite of the savoury pastry. No point in being hung over, pissed off and hungry. Besides what else could he do.   
He thought about going and checking on Caitriona again, but the look in her eyes as she’d kicked him outside last time was enough to make him decided against it. That, and seeing Caitriona kissing Johnathon once was bad enough. He wasn't ready to witness that again anytime soon.

Shock, he decided as he swallowed one large bite then took another. Unexpected shock. He hadn’t thought that Caitriona would be alone for any great length of time, but he had at least thought that he had a small window into her life. That she had a let him in. That he’d know if she was looking to begin a relationship again. It had knocked him off centre to discover that that was not the case. 

He looked down the hallway, door still closed and quiet then threw the food down on the counter as a wave of nausea washed over him. The realisation that Caitriona may be involved with someone sent his stomach churning and a wave of nausea crashing over him. 

He didn’t think she was anywhere near ready for anything like this. 

No. 

A situation like this demanded one thing, he grouched. As soon as Caitriona was alone, a good talk was in order. Jumping headfirst into who knows what, with who knows who, seemed like a spectacularly bad decision to Sam. Strong brows knit as he flexed his hands on the counter top. As soon as she came out of that bedroom, one way or the other, Sam was going to find out what the hell was going on. 

Before it was too late and Caitriona did something that she’d regret. 

Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up - Johnathon and Caitriona on the other side of the door. :)


	27. Forward and Back

Caitriona buttoned the last few holes of her shirt and padded quietly back into the bedroom, a pair of flat shoes hanging loosely from one hand. Johnathon was standing, his back to her, hands tucked into his pants pockets as he surveyed the street below. She smiled softly to herself at Johnathon’s obvious idea of courtesy, having politely turned his back when she had suggested that before they do anything else, she should at least change into something more than a towel. It apparently hadn’t mattered that she’d been well out of his view anyway, tucked away in the semi-privacy of her walk-in robe.  
“Stopped raining?” She asked quietly as she sat down on the corner of the bed and lifted a long jean covered leg, sliding one foot into her shoe.  
“Not yet.” Johnathon turned at the sound of her voice, “Only a drizzle though. Not so bad.”  
“Typical Scottish weather.” Caitriona commented slipping the last strap onto her heel, then moving to stand beside him, bending slightly to look out the window, making her own assessment of the conditions outside, “Drizzly and cold.” She turned her head to regard him, “Not very welcoming is it? Between the weather and what happened this morning, you’re never going to want to come back.” Caitriona kept her tone light, but had no such luck silencing the concern lurking in the back of her mind. She knew she was probably just being overly sensitive, and Johnathon’s earlier warm hug and the accompanying kiss has gone a long way towards allaying some of those fears but Sam’s second interruption hadn’t exactly helped. His persistent interruptions kept resuscitating situations that Caitriona was working hard to kill off. For his part, Johnathon had been politely gentlemanly about it, all things considered, but Caitriona had learned the hard way that just because things seemed okay on the surface, didn’t necessarily make it so deep down. She'd been burned by that particular stick in the past.

“I don’t mind cold and rainy,” Johnathon commented as he straightened and turned, leaning slightly on the sill of the window, “One of my favourite things actually.”

“Tick for inclement weather,” Caitriona made a motion with her index finger and gave him a half smile, “And the rest?” Came the casually nonchalant question, not wanting Johnathon to know about her private insecurity that she wished she didn’t have, but also desperately wanting, no, needing him to be honest with her.  An honesty Caitriona wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to hear.  There was no way to be one hundred percent certain, but anyone with an ounce of intelligence was smart enough to know that anyone presented with a half naked man in the appearing from behind an opened door of the woman you had romantic inclinations towards, wasn’t the best way to begin anything, let alone what Caitriona hoped might be a relationship. It was worse than bad. It was about as horribly horrendous as anything she could have imagined. Caitriona looked up at him, “I know how this morning looked. I don’t -" Her voice trailed off. She stopped and shook her head, lifting a hand and massaging her brow, “God, I’m not explaining this very well.” Her hand dropped to her thigh in frustration, “I know you've said that it's okay but.. I guess, I’d rather just know now if things..if you.. if we.. aren’t okay. I don't want think things are all good and then have this morning come back and kick us in the ass later." She'd said us, but she’d really meant me. Caitriona had first hand experience of this very thing. A past that was littered with instance after instance where old blame that she’d thought was dead and buried had come back. An unexploded ordinance secretly kept. The devastating evidence of some past indiscretion or another, secreted away to be rolled out and aimed squarely at her, where and when it could inflict the most damage.  Even if facing the truth was terrifying. Even if it meant Johnathon would leave.  If they were starting out on shaky ground, she’d rather face it now before she was in too deep. Right now leaving was easy. The longer he stayed, the more she felt the pull of attraction towards him, the closer they became, the harder it would be to leave unscathed.  “I know it’s hard to believe" She continued, mentally squaring her shoulders," that it isn’t what it looked like. We don’t really know each other and you can’t be expected to just believe me like that,” She clicked her fingers, the noise loud in the quiet room, “I get that. Truly, I do and," She swallowed, the sound seemingly so loud to her that Caitriona was sure Johnathon would hear it, "I'll understand if you want to go.” 

He studied her a moment, clearly thinking about his answer and just how much of it he should tell her. “In those first few seconds,” He finally said, “I thought about leaving.” Caitriona felt her stomach drop, the icy touch of regret starting in the pit of her stomach as all her fears came rushing towards her.  You wanted the truth Caitriona, her mind warned, get ready for it now.

“I didn't leave though.” Johnathon continued, “And not because you asked me not to either.” He saw the flicker of surprise dart across her expressive face, “I didn’t leave because I wanted to stay. To hear you out.” He held her gaze, his voice soft and serious, trying to be entirely honest with an openness that wasn’t at all natural to him, “You told me the truth.” Blond brows arched slightly in question, blue eyes watching her intently, “Right?”

“Yes.” 

“Then that’s good enough for me.” Johnathon’s face lightened as he reached for Caitriona's hand, gently threading his fingers between hers, “It wasn’t exactly how I planned to say hello, but,” He gave her a soft smile, “it’s not turning out too badly.”

She searched his eyes, hunting for any indication of a disparity between what he was saying and what she thought he might be feeling. She been looked in the eyes and lied to before. If Johnathon was lying now, there wasn’t the slightest hint of it in the blue eyes watching her. Could it really be that he actually had let it go and he was genuinely telling her the truth. “Are you absolutely sure Johnathon?” 

“I am.” There was no denying that seeing a half naked man in her doorway, had set Johnathon on his heels but he wasn’t about to lie about it.Not to anyone, including himself or Caitriona. In that fleeting moment when the door had opened and revealed her co-star, his mind had been racing, bouncing back and forth, trying to reconcile the Caitriona he had spent all week talking to and the dreadful thought that it all been a lie. That Caitriona was already involved with someone. That Johnathon had been used, that Caitriona wasn’t who he’d thought she was.

But when he’d dared to look, really look into those blue eyes of hers, Johnathon was sure he’d seen something else. Not innocence and not guilt, just a silent plea to listen. Maybe in time it would prove to be one of the worst decisions of his life and a mistake from which there would be no recovery, but there was something there in those deep pools of blue that Johnathon just couldn’t ignore. The beautiful face watching him was decorated with the same look now. It made Johnathon wonder just how badly she had been treated and which asshole in her past was responsible for it.

“It’s alright Caitriona.” His voice seemed to deepen and soften around the edges, the gentle certainty reaching down inside Caitriona and warming her from her belly out, “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay.” 

Caitriona felt the wave of relief hit her. Warm hand holding hers, quietly steadying her as she let out a long breathe and slowly nodded, “I’m sorry. I just-” She paused, brows draw tightly together as she ran her fingers along his much longer ones, studying them silently while she again tried to articulate what she felt.

“I know.” Johnathon said softly, saving her from any further explanation and letting the world settle around them. Caitriona looked up at him, seeing familiar understanding in his deep blue eyes.

He did know, Caitriona realised, exactly what it felt like to have something look one way when it was in fact the direct opposite. While some of the more intricate details had yet to be revealed to her, Johnathon had told her enough about his recent past relationship, a rather serious one by all accounts, and the accusation that he claimed he was entirely innocent of. Lack of belief had torn that relationship apart. Leaving had been the only option available to him, once trust had been broken. This morning, he hadn't left. He was standing right here. With her. Maybe that was evidence enough, at least for the moment, that maybe, just maybe, he was different.   

“I’m glad you stayed,” She said quietly, a decision made. If it all came back to bite, then she’d deal with that.

Somehow.

Johnathon opened his mouth to answer but instead a low grumble sounded, loud enough to make both of them looked down at the offending body part, “Sorry.” Johnathon smiled sheepishly and lifted a hand to pat his midriff, as if touching it would magically silence its vocal objection. The tension broken, Caitriona gave a small laugh, “Come on,” She tightened her fingers around his and gently tugged his hand, “Let’s get you some food before you pass out on me.” Caitriona started towards the door, “Is it alright if we head out to get it though, I don’t have a great deal in the fridge.” She shot him another apologetic look, “I haven’t had time to do grocery shopping this week.”

There. That was one reason for getting out of the place. The other was that she just didn’t want to have Sam sticking his unwelcome head into situations that really were none of his business. “The car is right outside,” Johnathon nodded amiably, “The bag I brought with me had some food in it but it’s probably cold by now. I’m game for another automotive adventure if you are?”

She smiled broadly, “I’m in.” Meaning that in more ways than one, Caitriona reached out and swung open the door. She headed silently down the narrow hall, Johnathon presence warm at her back, as they walked through to the kitchen finding, Sam, who was gratefully now clothed, just finishing off the last of the Johnathon's food that he had thoughtfully arrived with. Caitriona contemplated for a moment, not formally introducing the two men to each other, or speaking to Sam at all, but the good manners instilled her from birth, wouldn’t allow it. Squaring her shoulders and hoping to Christ that Sam, just this once, wouldn’t act ridiculous, she drew Johnathon close to her.

“Everything okay Caitriona?” Sam straightened to his full height, eyes flicking from Johnathon to Caitriona, the obvious question hanging in the air as they entered the kitchen.

“Everything is more than fine.” She greeted him calmly, ignoring the accusatory look on his face,“Sam, this is Johnathon.” She waited a moment, flicking her co-star an imploring glance to not make things any more awkward than they already felt, “My friend.”

Sam eyed the tall man dubiously, then dusted off his hands and half stood, leaning over the island counter and offering Johnathon his outstretched hand.

“Sam.” Johnathon amiably accepted the proffered hand with a slight nod and a smile.

“Co-star and Caitriona’s good friend,” Sam announced, heavy emphasis on the ‘good’, being sure to grip the strong hand harder than strictly necessary before he let it go, “What brings you to Glasgow Johnathon?”

“Stop over. On my way to New York. For work.”  Johnathon’s blue eyes glanced Caitriona’s way, the quiet look in them letting her know exactly what he was doing. He didn’t care if Sam Heughan was a good friend of Caitriona or not. Johnathon had no desire or reason to share anything private about Caitriona, or himself for that matter. Anything Caitriona wanted Sam to know, she’d tell him, Johnathon reasoned. 

“New York?” Eyes narrowed almost to slits as Sam regarded the blond man, not at all comfortable with the looks passing between his friend and this stranger. “You in entertainment industry then? That how you know my Caitriona?”

Caitriona internally cringed. She'd expected Sam to be a bit, well, protective, but this was verging on ridiculous.  She watched as Johnathon returned his gaze to Sam, adding in a smile for good measure, refusing to take the bait, “No. Not at all.”  A simple statement, the accompanying elaboration deliberately withheld and an answer that she could see, didn't quite meet Sam's expectations.

“Quite an accent ye got there. Where’s that from then?” Sam pushed again, oblivious to the irony of his question.

“Australia.”

“That’s a good way’s away ye ken.” Sam reached down and selected the last morsel of the breakfast parcel, pointing it in Johnathon’s direction as he spoke, “Glasgow a bit off the track if you’d be flying from Australia to New York. Must have had a good reason to come here then?”

"Yes," Johnathon stated, "I do."

“Well,” Caitriona interjected, having had enough of Sam's little alpha male protective bullshit that he often put on around her, "We're heading on out,"She lifted her coat from a peg beside the door and waited for Johnathon to join her as she stepped to the front door, “Make sure you lock up when you leave.”  

“Nice to meet you Sam.” Johnathon politely acknowledged as he crossed in front of Caitriona and stepped outside.

“You as well.”  Both men looked at each other silently, each appraising the other. The look on Sam’s face was a dead giveaway. He certainly wasn’t rolling out the welcome mat. Yet another reason to end this conversation. She glanced at Johnathon. His face was passive and calm, little indication of what he thought of Sam either way.

“Bye Sam.” Caitriona started to pull the door closed, “See you on Monday for work.” The door clicked shut, loud in the quiet of the empty hallway, “Ready?” She asked quietly, slipping her arms into the well worn leather jacket and pulling her hair out from under the collar, anxious to move as far as she could from the apartment and the disasters therein.

“Lead on.” Johnathon smiled softly, digging into his pocket and finding his car keys, “Parked just out front.” They navigated down their way down the narrow stairs, Caitriona leading the way, then stepping out into the misty rain , just heavy enough to small droplets on anything it touched. A soft tone sounded as Johnathon unlocked the car doors, the indicators blinking momentarily as he opened the door and waited for Caitriona slide inside. She watched as he walked, in long strides around to the driver’s side and climbed in beside her.

“Do you know the way?” Johnathon's head turned to face her as he stirred the engine to life, “Or are we throwing our fate to the GPS gods?” His stomach chose that moment to once again remind the occupants of the car, that it was indeed starving. "Sorry." He apologised with a shake of his head.

“I know the way. Go to the end of the road and turn left.” Caitriona laughed, “When did you last eat?”

 Johnathon steered the car down the street as directed, “Before I got on the plane.”

“In Australia?” Caitriona looked at him, both brows raised, getting a nod in answer, “Christ, no wonder you’re hungry. Why didn’t you have something when you first landed?”

“Didn’t have time.”

“Why?”

Blue eyes turned her way, honest and open, “I wanted to see you first.”

“Oh.” Was all Caitriona said as a brilliant smile split her face and a warm wave washed over her, taking with it the worry and doubts of earlier.

No, she decided.

Perhaps the morning wasn’t turning out so badly after all.

She studied Johnathon's handsome face a moment, watching the gentle play of muscles under his skin as he focused on navigating the road ahead.

Yes, not to badly at all.

She settled back in the seat, smiling to herself. Johnathon was here.  Here for her. Here with her. Finally. Someone worth looking forward with. 

 

If only either occupant of the car had looked back. Just for a second, at that very moment in time. They might have noticed the middle aged man, sitting in a non-descript vehicle just two doors down from Caitriona’s apartment. He quietly tucked the long lens camera away, removed the SD card and stored it in a custom made case. That was a valuable commodity right there and certainly worth protecting. He started the car and slowly pulled out of the parking space. Always careful to follow a safe distance behind. Never too close. Just far enough to follow undetected.

He smiled darkly.

Undetected.

Silent.

Unknown.

Ready to strike when the target least expected it. 

Just the way he liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up - A trip to the art gallery and a discussion about the terms and conditions, so to speak. Probably post around the 20th or so. Cheers everyone and a huge thank you to all those out there who leave kudos and comments and keep writers like me on track with fics when everything else is doing it's darnedest to get in the way.


	28. Could it be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day together. Nothing but fluff.

They’d begun the day, having put the disasters of the apartment behind them and having found her tall companion some breakfast, the amount of which Johnathon had consumed, still left her slightly amazed. At her suggestion they had gradually worked their way across the city, visiting some to the galleries and museums and the odd famous landmark, finally ending the day in Modern Art Gallery, one her favourite local haunts that she often strolled through.  
“What do you think about this one?” Caitriona asked as she glanced up to observe the handsome face that was currently peering at the large painting in front of them. Johnathon’s head tilted to one side as he folded his arms across his chest and considered the art work. Vivid swathes of colour, reds, purples and yellows had been splashed rather haphazardly across the large white canvas that had to be at least seven feet square in Caitriona’s estimation.  
“Well,” He drawled slowly, “I think it’s,” He paused, tasting the word, “interesting.”  
Dark brows raised almost to her hairline and she turned to face him, “Oh really?” Caitriona certainly hadn’t expected that answer. She'd been building a bit of an idea about what Johnathon liked based upon his reaction to the various pieces that they’d viewed. This painting was messy, uncontrolled, chaotic and looked very much like a rainbow had vomited on a sheet of paper. Not at all what Caitriona had thought Johnathon might like. Museums he liked, she’d discovered over the course of the day, having visited two earlier. He had been genuinely intrigued by the various historical facts and equally so by the much smaller personal connections. Intimate individual stories detailed in neat script, almost as a side note on several of the exhibits. Artifacts ranging from a cup salvaged from a shipwreck, to a set of shackles and even a simple button scavenged from someone’s coat. The museums been an unqualified success. The Art Galleries, not so much, but Caitriona had to admit, Johnathon had been more than happy to patiently stroll through several of them with her without so much has a hint of complaint. She was surprised, nevertheless by his answer on the current art piece in question.  
“Mmm." He nodded slightly, the very picture of a serious art critic, "Interesting. Pretty amazing really.”  
Caitriona turned and looked at him like he’d grown another ear, “Amazing?”  
“Yeah. Amazing.” Johnathon bent and studied the small white tag displaying the art work’s title and then looked up at her, one corner of his mouth twitching into a grin as he straightened, “Don’t you think it’s amazing that a two year old got their finger painting displayed in gallery. Bit of a step up from the fridge door.”  
Caitriona shook her head and laughed softly. This reaction a good deal more like what she had been expecting from the onset. Johnathon’s description not withstanding, the painting in question was even too outlandish for her to take seriously and Johnathon's description, though slightly sarcastic in nature, was almost exactly what the picture looked like.  
“Really Caitriona,” He chuckled a broad smile on his face, “Do people get paid for this?” He pointed an accusatory finger at the mess on the wall.  
“Some people do.” She matched his smile with one of her own and gently took his hand, reveling in the comfortable companionship and physical proximity that was quickly developing between them. They headed through an archway into the next section of the gallery, “That painting hasn’t been sold yet, today is its first showing, but,” Caitriona leaned over towards him and lowered her voice as they drew closer to a small group of people that had clustered around the next exhibit, “according to the owner, it's very popular.”  
“Talk about art being the eye of the beholder,” Johnathon gave his head a small shake of disbelief.  
“I thought that was beauty?”  
“That too.” He jovially agreed, warm fingers contracting slightly around hers, “That one,” He nodded towards the group, “is probably a pasta necklace, judging from the excitement.”  
“Come on,” Caitriona tugged his hand, so enjoying being with him that she decided whatever piece of art the group was cooing over, wasn’t going to stack up against the warm feeling in her belly and the smile that had worked its way onto her face and taken up permanent residence there. It felt good to feel happy again, she reflected quietly as she nudged Johnathon towards a different alcove off to their left. Happy, safe and content. Caitriona wasn’t sure when she’d lost that, or even if she’d ever really had it begin with, but now those feelings were here, so very real, in the gentleness of his voice, the warmth of his hand in hers and the soft security of the sheer closeness of him that it felt indescribably good. “Let’s leave that one to the crowd shall we.” She suggested quietly, only too happy to stay in the semi secluded bubble of two. They peeled off and found themselves alone in a much smaller viewing area.  
“Now that’s more like it.” Johnathon commented, lifting their joined hands towards one of the smaller paintings. It was an oil painting, almost photographic in its quality, of a small boy, sitting on a fallen tree, the subject's back facing the viewer as he looked forward into the thick vibrant green forest. The log rested beside a small creek, its surface a wavy mirror until it flowed, dancing over moss covered rocks as it disappeared off in the distance. Beside the boy, sat a small black dog, its long tail hanging down, dangling over the curve of the rough bark log, one infant pale hand resting on its neck. The gentle embrace of a friend. It was, in fact, quite a beautiful painting, Caitriona mused, as she inspected the piece in question. Nothing outlandish or garish, a perfectly rendered recreation of a peaceful forest scene and two companions enjoying the view, complete with the rainy mist on the horizon that Johnathon professed to have a fondness for.  
Her gaze flicked sideways, quietly studying Johnathon’s profile as his eyes moved over the art work. Now this picture type suited him, Caitriona decided, matching exactly the set of 'Johnathon' characteristics that she’d been mentally gathering throughout the afternoon. She had the idea that he was more of an outdoor type than in and preferred nature over almost everything else. The painted scene reminded her in some ways of the cabin where they'd first met. Quiet and peaceful in a solitary sense. If Caitriona hadn’t appeared by the way of an episode of slippery wheels and some jubious driving, Johnathon would have been there alone, and she suspected, happily so.  
“At last.” She teased and gently nudged him with her hip, “Something he likes.”  
“Can’t go wrong with a boy and his dog. Particularly not when they actually resemble what they are supposed to.”  
Caitriona bent slightly, leaning in closer to get a better look and inspecting the frozen figures, “Blond haired boy.” She shot him a look, “I could imagine that was you without too much effort.”  
Johnathon peered at the figure, “Could be I guess, if you hold your tongue the right way and squint.” He studied the small animal, “That looks a bit like a little dog I once had.” He paused, clearly recollecting a past memory, “Tiny.” He said with final certainty, “Her name was Tiny. A little miniature foxie.”  
“Tiny?” Caitriona raised an eyebrow, “Because she was small?”  
His face split into a sheepish grin, giving a nod and small shrug as if to say what else would one call a small dog but Tiny. So very logical, Caitriona thought as she smiled back and leaned against his shoulder. “And what do you think you might have been thinking, sitting there on that log with Tiny?”  
“Probably what was for dinner.” Johnathon chuckled, “Or maybe I was lost and trying to figure out the way home. Either way, it makes a good picture though.” His head turned, blue eyes regarding her with a slightly raised eyebrow, “You like it too?” It was more statement than question.  
“I do,” Caitriona nodded, confirming his suspicions, “I wonder what the boy would do if a girl and a cat came along and sat down on the other end of the log.”  
Blue eyes locked with her, “I would imagine it depends a great deal on who the girl might be.” The humour in his voice fell away, replaced by something deeper, a soft sensual rumble that vibrated through her hearing, leaving her very skin tingling and a swarm of butterflies dancing back and forth across the inside surface of her stomach. Strong fingers gently stroked hers, “Know anyone who might want to volunteer for the position?”  
“Might do.” She held his gaze, her heartbeat beginning to speed up as he leaned in closer to her.  
“Do you think,” His mouth drifted dangerously close to hers, “that this said girl might be willing to come sit next to the boy?” He was close enough that she felt rather than heard each syllable.  
"Yes," Caitriona murmured as she tilted her face towards his, “she definitely would.”  
“In that case then,” Warm lips covered hers, kissing her slowly, sending a wave of pleasure flooding through her from head to toe.  
Her eyes fluttered closed and she lifted a hand, resting the palm of her hand against the smooth surface of his cheek, craving greater contact, wanting to draw him in closer. She felt him hestitate, knowing the reason for it and finding herself caught between wanting to the moment to last and ever present awareness of the public nature of their surroundings. Johnathon gently drew the kiss to a slow close, “That’s what this boy would do.” His eyes left hers, briefly flicking gaze in the direction of a small group of people that were beginning to wander towards them, “Better not scandalise the locals on my first visit.” He brushed his lips across hers in a silent apology before straightening.  
Damn the locals, Caitriona thought, letting out a long slow breath and contenting herself with curling her arm through his and pressing against his side. It was hard to describe the contentedness she felt as they slowly perused the remainder of the pieces of art. Staying close without being so close as draw the public gaze. Right now, they could be anyone, strolling through the gallery on a lazy weekend. Outwardly there was nothing amiss, nothing to see here. Inwardly, her body was positively humming with a curious mixture of the thrill of sexual attraction and the safe gentle feeling that things were exactly as they are supposed to be. They’d spent the entire day talking, laughing and just enjoying being with each other. Together. The disasters of the morning seemed so far away that they might not have happened at all. The day from that point to this had seemed to flow from one perfect moment to the next.  They hadn’t done anything overly exciting or even anything out of the ordinary and yet, it had been perfect just the same. Exactly what she’d been looking for. After all the travelling, all that she'd seen and done, the whirlwind of Outlander, modelling and Hollywood, it was hard to comprehend how something as simple as just spending the day with Johnathon could have such an effect on her. This feeling, this way of thinking, all of it. It just didn’t happen to her. She’d heard other people talk about it but had never really believed in it.

Attraction was one thing.

This.

This was something else entirely.

Yes, Caitriona admitted, there were moments when her body reacted so strongly to the pure physicality of him, that it made her want nothing more than drag him into the nearest quiet space and get lost in him completely. Then there were other moments. Entirely different moments, when it felt like small secret little pieces, hidden deep within the heart of herself, that had been out of place and lost, were finally fitting together. Sliding into place in quiet slow motion and definiteness that it was stunning in its intensity. Is this what falling in love feels like? The question was so unexpected that for a split second her feet almost tangled.    
“Everything okay?” Johnathon’s deep voice sounded softly near her ear, tightening his grip and steadying her.  
“Yes.” She shunted the question to the back of her mind, unwilling to face the answer just yet, "Think we need to make a move though. This closes in five minutes." She rested a hand on Johnathon's upper arm as they made their way down a small set of stairs towards the entrance doors, conveniently also serving as the exit back out onto the street. They ducked from overhang to overhang as they walked along the street trying to keep out of the light drizzle that had persisted all day and now, into early evening as well. It was a blessing that Johnathon, against the odds, had managed to find a car park relatively close to the gallery.

“Still a fan of the drizzle?” Caitriona asked, as she took of her coat, slightly damp from the short unprotected walk back to the car, and laid it across her knees, grateful for the gentle flow of warming air as Johnathon started the engine and headed down the street.

“Absolutely.” He grinned, lifting a hand and running his fingers through his damp hair, scattering small droplets of water and causing one section to stick up comically. Without thinking Caitriona reached over and smoothed the thick strands down, feeling the gentle curve of the back of his skull and the warmth of his skin. Blue eyes flicked her way, blinking slowly before turning back to the road, a small dimple appearing on his cheek with the soft smile that lit his face, “Where to next?”

Caitriona let her hand linger there longer than strictly necessary before reluctantly removing it and resting it in her lap, “How about some dinner?”

“Did you have somewhere in mind or shall we play restaurant of fortune?”

She considered that a moment. There were literally half a dozen excellent restaurants that were within a half an hour drive from here. It was Saturday night and they would all shortly be packed to gills with patrons gathering to start a long night of reveling. Once upon a time not so very long ago, she would have been one of them, having spent more time than she cared to remember, in bars and night clubs. Tonight however, the thought of being around a crowd of people, anyone other than her tall car companion, suddenly didn’t seem at all appealing. Besides, it seemed to her that Johnathon certainly wasn’t the type who craved large crowds and constant group interactions or the wildly exotic party night life. No, Caitriona privately wagered with herself, he’d be more of a stay at home with one or two close friends type. There was something about that Caitriona found immensely attractive.

“How about home?” Caitriona finally said quietly. She knew it wasn’t the most exciting or even a glamorous suggestion in terms of showing off her current home town, but the quiet seclusion of her apartment was entirely too enticing to ignore. No one else save the two of them. Private and peaceful. “I don’t have a lot in the fridge to cook but we could pick up something up on our way,” She glanced over at him, trying to gauge what he thought about the suggestion, “Maybe Chinese and quiet night in?”

The handsome face beside her smiled broadly, “Chinese it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up a quiet dinner at home and some terms and conditions.


End file.
